1  i 


OF  -CAU  F(%  OF-C 


ovVWNASf.ttf.J^ 
JJ3N  £      §  (  ft  d  ?5 

5vl  £  >o!5 


V  S  ] 

,J\ 


.^•v  '     /^X 


i 


l;£      ^ 


3\\ 


I*  &          «£ 


3      9= 


.  \\\[  l'NIVERS/A 

CN* 


UIBRARY/?/- 


r  -v^V-UDnMnroj/r 

^  §  1  fr'  il 

i  g/U  ?  i 

g  lOMjg 


v\\l  LIBRARY 


By  ELIZABETH  W,  CHAMPNEY 


ROMANCE  OF  THE  FEUDAL  CHATEAUX. 

ROMANCE  OF   THE   RENAISSANCE   CHA- 
TEAUX. 

ROMANCE  OF  THE  BOURBON  CHATEAUX. 
ROMANCE  OF  THE  FRENCH  ABBEYS. 
ROMANCE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  VILLAS. 
ROMANCE  OF  ROMAN  VILLAS. 


ROMANCE  OF  THE 
RENAISSANCE  CHATEAUX 


BY 

ELIZABETH  W.  CHAMPNEY 

p  ^£§1,  ttW&t  iHtASH  the 
Duke  of  Guise 

From  the  painting  by  P.  C.  Comte 
(With  permission  of  Levy  et  Fils,  Paris) 


I LLUSTRATED 


NHW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

Cbc  fmtcfeerbocfcer  press 

1909 


ROMANCE  OF  THE 
RENAISSANCE  CHATEAUX 


BY 
ELIZABETH  W.  CHAMPNEY 

AUTHOR  OF  "  ROMANCE  OF  THE  FEUDAL  CHATEAUX' 


I LLUSTRATED 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S   SONS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

Cbc  ftnicberbocber  press 

1909 


COPYRIGHT,  1901 

BV 
ELIZABETH  W.  CHAMPNEV 

Set  up  and  electrotyped,  Nov.,  1901 

Reprinted,  Jan.,  1904;  May,  1905;  June,  1906;  May,  1907 
April,  1909 


Ubc  ttnkherbocher  press,  *Uw  fiork 


Urfcm 


.20 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACK 

INTRODUCTION    AND    AUTHORITIES  CON- 
SULTED         ...  . 

I. — THE    BOOK   OF    HOURS    OF    CHARLOTTE 

D'ALBRET i 

(Chateaux  of  Nantes,  Amboise,  and  Blois) 

II. — THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  ERMINE  MANTLE,        48 
(Chateau  of  La  Motte  Feuilly) 

III. — THE  FANGS  OF  IRON        ....       64 
(Chateau  of  Meillant) 

IV. — THE  CARDINAL'S  RELIQUARY  ...       94 
(Chateau  of  Gaillon) 

V. — THE  LADY,  ST.  GEORGE,  AND  THE  DRAGON,    123 

(Chateaux  of  Gaillon  and  Chambord) 

VI. — THE  NYMPH  OF  FONTAINEBLEAU     .         .     139 
(Chateaux  of  Fontainebleau  and  Anet) 

VII. — A  LILY  AMONG  THORNS  .... 
(Chateau  of  Chenonceau) 

VIII. — THE  SWAN  MAIDENS  OF  NEVERS 

(Chateaux  of  Ecouen,  Blois,  and  Nevers) 


iv  Contents 

CHAPTER 

IX. — THE  STRANGE  STORY  OF   SYLVIE  DE  LA 

MlRANDOLE  ..... 

(Hotel  Pince  at  Angers) 

X. — THE  HEART  OF  THE  VOLCANO 

(The  Louvre  and  the  chateaux  of  Ne"rac 
and  Usson) 


FAGB 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

IN  PHOTOGRAVURE 

Pag* 

Interview   between   Henry  III.  and  the 
Duke  of  Guise          .       Frontispiece 

From  the  painting  by  P.  C.  Comte 
(By  permission  of  Levy  et  fi/s,  Paris) 

Door  of  the  Chapel,  Chateau  of  Amboise      38 

Portion  of  the  Roof  of  the  Chateau  of 

Chambord        .         .         .         .  ij6 

The  Chateau  of  Chenonceau    .  .     186 

The  Chdteau  of  Never s  ....     250 

A  Gate  of  the  Louvre  after  Saint  Bar- 
tholomew's Day        ....     jjo 

from  the  painting  l<y  Debat  Prison 
( By  permission  of  Ad.  Bra  tin  ct  Cic.) 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

OTHER  THAN  PHOTOGRAVURE 

Page 

Chdteau  of  Chaumont  4 

Chdteau  of  Nantes  10 

Chdteau  of  Amboise  .         ...       40 

Anne  de  Bretagne  44 

From  her  "  Livre  d'Heures" 

Chdteau  of  La  Motte  Feuilly .          .         .       48 
Charles  Chaumont  Amboise    .          .         .       64 

From  the  painting  by  Solario,  in  the  Louvre 
( By  permission  of  Neurdein,  Paris) 

Chdteau  of  Mcillant        ....       7^ 

(  By  permission  of  Neurdein,  Paris) 

The  Chevalier  Bayard  So 

After  A .  de  Ncuville 

( By  permission  of  E, stes  c^1  Lauriat) 

vii 


Vlll 


Illustrations 


Chateau  of  Gaillon  in  1658     . 

From  an  etching  by  Israel  Silvestre 


St.  George  and  the  Dragon      .          .          .      zoo 

From  the  bas-relief  by  Alichel  Colombe,  in  the  Louvre 
(  By  permission  of  A.  Ciraudon.  Paris) 

Michael  Angclo  and  Vittoria  Colonna     .      IJ2 

From  the  painting  by  M.  Lenhardt 


Jeanne  d  '  Aragon    ..... 

From  the  painting  in  the  Louvre,  attributed  to  Raphael 
(  fiy  permission  of  Neurdein,  Paris) 


Francis  I        ......     14.0 

From  the  painting  bv  Titian 

General  View  of  Fontainebleau        .          .      14.8 

From  an  old  print 

Entrance  to  Chdtcau  of  Anct  .          .      182 

Diana     .......     184 

From  the  statue  by  Jean  Gonjon,  in  the  Louvre 
(  By  permission  of  Levy,  Paris) 

Chateau  of  Ussc      .          .          .          .  iq6 


Illustrations  ix 

Pagt 

Chdteaii  of  Azay-le-Rideau  .  .  .  198 
Chdteau  of  St.  Aignan  ....  202 
Spiral  Staircase,  Chdteau  of  Blois  .  234 

(  By  permission  of  Neurdein,  Paris) 

The  Duchess  of  Guise     ....     248 

(This  painting  ;'.<•  shown  as  the  portrait  of  Anne  d'Este, 
mother  of  Duke  Henri  of  Gittse,  but  it  seems  more  probable 
that  it  is  that  of  his  wife,  Catherine  de  Cleves,  sister  of  the 
Duchess  of  Never  s) 

Henriette  de  Cleves,  Duchess  of  Never  s   .      248 

From  the  painting  at  the  chateau  of  Blois 

Sylvie  (or  Fiilvie)  de  la  Mirandole, 
wife  of  Charles  de  la  Rochefou- 
cauld, Coiint  of  Randan  .  .  .  270 

(  By  permission  of  Brann,  Clement  <fb°  Co.} 

Hotel  Pince",  A  ners        ....     28 


Henri  de  Guise       .....     280 

From  a  drawing  in  the  Louvre 
(By  permission  of  A  .  Giraudon,  Paris} 

Marguerite  de  Valois      ....     280 

From  a  drawing  by  Francois  Clouet 


x  Illustrations 

Page 

Ruins  of  the  Chdteau  of  Montsoreau       .     290 
A  Ball  during  the  Reign  of  Henry  III.     jo6 

From  a  painting  of  the  period,  in  the  Louvre 

Nymphs  of  the  Fountain  of  the  Innocents    310 

By  Jean  Goujon 
(  By  permission  of  Neurdein,  Paris) 

Admiral  Caspar  d  de  Coligny  .          .     332 

From  a  drawing  by  Francois  Clouet 
(  By  permission  of  A.  Giraudon,  Paris) 

Ne"rac  —  Ruins  of  Chdteau  of  Henri  of 

Navarre  ......     352 


Chdteau  of  Pau 


Assassination  of  the  Due  de  Guise  .     362 

After  Paul  Ddarochc 

Residence  of  Marguerite  de  Valois  .     366 

From  "  L  ''Ami  des  Monuments  " 
(By  permission  of  Charles  Normand) 


PARTIAL  LIST  OF  BOOKS  CONSULTED 

Details  sur  la  vie  prive"e  d'  Anne  de  Bretagne. — Le  Roux 
de  Lincy. 

Notice   historique   sur   le  Chdteau    de   Nantes. — Charles 
Bongouin,  fils. 

Louis  XII.  et  Anne  de  Bretagne. — La  Croix. 

Etude    sur    la    -vie    de    Charlotte    d1  Albret.  —  Edmond 
Planchut. 

Le    Chdteau   de   Nantes. — Jules    Furret    et    Dominique 
Caille. 

Histoire  de  Languedoc,  from  the  Chronicles  of  the  Bene- 
dictines of  the  Congregation  of  St.   Maur. 

Chroniques  de  Louis  XII. — Jean  d'Aulon. 

Lettres  du  Cardinal  Amboise  a  Louis  XII. 

Chronique  du  loyal  serviteur. 

Memoires. — Brantome. 

La  Renaissance  en  Italic  et  en  France  a  r  epoque  de  Charles 

VIII. — Eugene  Muntz. 
Palais,   chdteaux,  hotels  >   et  maisons  de  France. — Claude 

Sauvageot. 

Histoire  du  Chdteau  de  Blots. — L.  de  la  Saussaye. 
La  Loire. — Louis  Barron. 

Residences  royales  de  la  Loire. — Loiseleur  et  Pasquier. 
Chdteaux  de  la  Loire. — Victor  Petit. 


xii     Partial  List  of  Books  Consulted 

Le  Chdteau  de   Chenonceau,  Notice  historique. — Mgr.  C. 

Chevalier. 
Memoires  et  Lettres  de  Marguerite  de  Valois. — Edited  by 

M.  F.  Guissard. 
Les  Femmes  celebres  de  I'Ancienne  France. — Le  Roux  de 

Lincy. 

La  Renaissance  en  France. — Leon  Palustre. 
Le  Chdteau  d'Eu. — J.  Vatout. 
Melanges  d ' 'histoire  et  d  'archeologie. — Robert  de  Lasteyrie 

et  Jules  Quicherat. 
Histoire  et  description  du  Chdteaii  d'Anet. — Pierre  Desiree 

Roussel. 
Les  plus  excellentes  bastiments  de  France,    Jacques  An- 

drouet  du  Cerceau. 

Nantes,  et  la  Loire  Infc'rieure. — F.  Benoist. 
Monographic   du   Palais   de   Fontainebleau .  —  Rodolphe 

Pfnor. 

Le  Chdteau  d'Anet. — Rodolphe  Pfnor. 
Comptes   des  depenses   de  la   construction    du    Chdteau   de 

Gaillon  (after  original  MS.). — A.  Deville. 
Jnventaire  des  biens  de  Charlotte  d' Albret. — Bonaffe\ 
Meillant  sous  Louis  XII. — G.  de  Mortemart. 
Statistique  monumental  du  Cher. — Bahot  de  Kersers. 
Les  chateaux  historiques  de  la  France. — Eyries  et  Ferret. 
Les  chdteaux  de  France  des  ije  et  i6e  sieclcs. — Petit. 
Voyages  dans  Vancienne  France  le  Bon. — Taylor. 
Memoir  of  J ean  Goujon. — Jules  Gailhabaud. 
Memoir  of  J- 'ean  Goujon. — Berty. 
Works  of  Philibert  Delorme. 
Histoire  Jes  dues  de  Guise. — Rene  de  Bouille. 


Partial  List  of  Books  Consulted    xiii 

Histoire  des  comtes  et  des  dues  de  Nevers. — L.  M.  Pous- 
sereau. 

La  verM  historique  sur  la  Dame  et  le  Sire  de  Montsoreau, 
J.  de  Chdteau  Cfidlons. 

Histoire  des  princes  de  Conde"  pendant  les  XVI'  et  XVII* 
siecles,  par  M.  le  Due  d'Aumale. 

La  mere  des  Guise,  par  le  Marquis  de  Pimodan. 

Catherine  de  Medicis. — Balzac,  and  Henri  Bouchot. 

Lives  of  Admiral  Coligny,  by  Bersier  and  Delaborde. 

Le  Louvre  et  son  histoire. — Albert  Babeau. 

Maisons  anciens  et  modernes. — Jules  Gailhabaud. 

La  France  artistique  et  monumental. — Henry  Havard. 

Laviele  France. — Robida. 

Le  Rhone. — Lentheric. 

Le  Maine  et  T  Anjou. — Le  Bon.  de  Wismes. 

Auvcrgne   et  le   Velay  Ad.  Michel. 

Files  of  L  'ami  des  monuments,  edited  by  Charles  Nor- 
mand,  and  the  Historical  and  Archaeological  Re- 
views of  the  different  Departments. 

L '  annuaire  des  chateaux^  and  the  standard  histories  of 
France.  Especially  Michelet  Martin  and  Guizot. 

The  author's  thanks  are  due  to  the  librarians  of  Avery 
Architectural  Library  of  Columbia  College,  and  of 
the  Astor  Library  ;  also  the  librarians  of  the 
chateau  of  Blois,  of  the  libraries  of  Montpellier, 
Orleans,  and  Tours,  and  especially  to  the  guardians 
of  the  Bibliotheque  Nationale  of  Paris. 

Should  the  reader  ask, 

"  Do  you  tell  the  story  now  in  offhand  style, 

Straight  from  the  book  ?     Or  is  there  book  at  all  ? 
And  don't  you  deal  in  poetry  make-believe 
And  the  white  lies  it  sounds  like  ?  " 


xiv    Partial  List  of  Books  Consulted 

the  scribe  can  only  answer  in  the  words  of  Browning 

"  Yes,  and  no. 

From  the  book,  yes  ;  thence  bit  by  bit  I  dug 
The  lingot  truth. 

But 

Something  of  mine  mixed  with  the  mass 
Made  it  bear  hammer  and  be  firm  to  file. 
Fancy  with  fact  is  just  one  fact  the  more  !  " 


INTRODUCTION 

HOW  THE  RENAISSANCE  CAME  TO  FRANCE 

ITS  PRECURSORS  AND  DEVELOPMENT 

*T*HE  Renaissance  is  associated  in  our  minds 
with  Italy,  and  rightly  so.  It  is  as 
though  the  sun  had  risen  first  from  the  Adri- 
atic, but  while  it  was  noon  in  Florence  dawn 
was  touching  the  French  hills,  and  for  France 
the  sixteenth  century  was  to  be  the  century 
of  the  Renaissance. 

It  has  been  customary  to  think  of  the  change 
as  a  sudden  one,  brought  about  during  the 
reign  of  Francis  I.  by  the  importation  of  Italian 
artists  and  architects.  More  careful  considera- 
tion relegated  its  transplanting  to  the  Italian 
wars  of  Charles  VIII.  and  Louis  XII.  But 
the  evolution  had  begun  even  before  these 
campaigns  revealed  to  the  invading  Frenchman 
the  superior  artistry  of  Italy,  though  this  revel- 
ation doubtless  accelerated  the  impulse. 

The  old  feudal  life  had  passed  away,  never  to 
return,  and  petty  lords  would  no  longer  build 
fortresses.  Returning  from  the  crusades  to  a 


xvi  Introduction 

state  of  peace  the  baron  no  longer  found  any 
need  for  the  military  service  which  his  vassals 
owed  him  for  the  tenure  of  their  land.  Since 
there  was  no  booty  to  be  gained  by  foray  on 
the  land  of  neighbours,  or  plunder  of  infidel 
cities,  a  following  of  men-at-arms  was  an  ex- 
pense rather  than  a  means  of  revenue,  and  the 
soldier  again  became  a  peasant.  But  the  peasant 
must  live  ;  the  land  was  still  the  seigneur's,  and 
rent  took  the  place  of  military  service.  The 
baron,  though  less  powerful,  suddenly  found 
himself  a  richer  man,  and  his  superfluous  wealth 
was  utilised  in  the  building  of  more  luxurious 
homes.  The  French  architects  who  had  built 
the  great  Gothic  cathedrals  were  capable  of 
solving  the  problem  now  presented  them  of 
devising  a  style  of  domestic  architecture  suited 
to  the  new  conditions,  and  a  great  variety  of 
beautiful  chateaux  sprang  up  all  over  France. 
It  was  at  this  time  that  native  architects  built 
the  house  of  Jacques  Coeur  at  Bourges,  dis- 
tinctly Gothic  in  every  detail.  Later  French 
architects  travelled  in  Italy,  studying  for  them- 
selves classic  models,  and,  working  out  the 
problem  of  adaptation,  brought  in  the  transi- 
tional period,  exemplified  in  the  elegant  hotels 
Lallemant  and  Cujas,  where  the  ordered  grace 
of  the  Renaissance  was  applied  to  the  wayward 


Introduction  xvii 

construction  of  existing  Gothic  buildings.  In 
these  tentatives,  before  they  were  bound  by 
the  strict  rules  of  classicism,  there  is  a  piquancy 
of  unexpected  contrast,  a  freedom  and  original- 
ity, a  wayward  grace,  and  sometimes,  as  in 
the  staircase  of  Blois  (built  about  1515),  a  no- 
bility which  is  inexpressibly  fascinating.  The 
coming  of  Italian  workmen  stimulated  the 
French  artisan  at  first  to  rivalry  rather  than  to 
imitation,  and  masterpieces  in  the  contrasting 
styles  sprang  up  at  the  same  time,  and  almost 
side  by  side. 

No  group  of  buildings  better  explains  this 
early  transitional  period  than  the  chateaux 
erected  at  the  beginning  of  the  century  by 
Jacques,  George,  and  Charles  Amboise. 

"In  all  centuries,"  says  a  noted  French 
writer,  "  certain  families  seem  to  have  the  par- 
ticular mission  of  developing  the  arts." 

This  was  the  destiny  of  the  house  of  Pierre 
d'Amboise,  Seigneur  of  Chaumont.  He  him- 
self seems  to  have  been  most  remarkable  for 
producing  a  family  of  extraordinary  quality 
and  quantity,  for  he  had  seventeen  children, 
and,  having  so  many  to  spare,  we  are  not  sur- 
prised that  several  were  given  to  the  Church. 
Of  these,  Jacques  Amboise1  became  Abbot  of 

1  The  names  Jacques,  George,    and    Charles  Amboise,  here  and 
throughout  the  book,  should  read  :  d'Amboise. 


xviii  Introduction 

Cluny,  and  built  (1490-1505)   the    Hotel  de 
Cluny  in  Paris. 

Up  to  this  time  religious  architecture  had 
held  to  the  old  Gothic  forms.  The  Renais- 
sance suggested  Pagan  stateliness  and  elegance, 
not  Christian  humility  and  devotion.  There- 
fore Jacques  Amboise  chose  to  rebuild  the 
Parisian  residence  of  the  abbots  of  his  order 
in  the  mediaeval  style,  endeared  to  monasticism 
by  long  association,  and  the  Cluny  Palace  still 
ministers  delight  to  the  lover  of  Gothic  archi- 
tecture. His  brother,  Cardinal  George  Am- 
boise, about  the  same  time  (1502-1509)  built 
his  chateau  of  Gaillon,  near  Rouen,  which  has 
been  called  "the  great  architectural  hyphen," 
uniting  the  Gothic  and  the  Renaissance  in 
France.  The  Cardinal  was  a  man  of  more 
generous  views  than  his  brother,  the  Abbot. 
He  possessed  a  cultured  mind,  widened  by 
travel  and  by  great  experience  of  the  world. 
In  his  chateau  he  chose  to  exemplify  the  style 
of  the  Italian  Renaissance  in  all  its  elegance 
and  purity.  It  was  the  first  building  to  stand  as 
a  model  in  France  of  the  new  style,  and  it  was 
long  the  inspiration  of  French  architects.  The 
fragments  which  remain  on  the  original  site 
and  those  which  have  been  removed  to  the 
court  of  the  Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts  may  be 


Introduction 

compared  with  the  Cluny  Palace,  and  the 
comparison  will  furnish  to  the  thoughtful 
student  an  encyclopedia  of  this  transitional 
period. 

A  chateau  which  unites  the  two  styles  in 
graceful  and  always  artistic  vagary,  the  most 
superb  and  best-preserved  example  of  this  time, 
the  most  fascinating  and  satisfactory  of  all  the 
earlier  abodes  of  the  grand  seigneurs,  is  to 
my  mind  the  chateau  of  Meillant.  It  was 
built  in  a  lonely  region  south  of  Bourges 
(almost  simultaneously  with  the  erection  of  his 
uncles'  chateaux)  by  Charles  Chaumont  Am- 
boise,  the  nephew  of  the  Abbot  and  the  Cardi- 
nal, and  commander  of  the  French  forces  in 
Italy  during  the  reigns  of  Charles  VIII.  and 
Louis  XII.  That  he  should  have  chosen  for 
the  site  of  his  favourite  residence  so  retired  a 
situation  as  Meillant  strikes  us  with  surprise, 
till  we  remember  that  his  father  fled  to  this  wil- 
derness at  a  time  when  he  had  lost  favour  with 
Louis  XL,  and  that  monarch  had  temporarily 
laid  his  grasping  hand  on  the  fair  domain 
of  Chaumont-sur-Loire.  The  elder  Amboise 
was  allowed  to  return  to  his  ancestral  home, 
which,  in  accordance  with  the  ruling  passion  of 
his  family,  he  rebuilt  and  beautified.  Chau- 
mont, lying  as  it  does  in  the  track  of  the  general 


Introduction 

tourist,  is  deservedly  known  and  admired,  but 
the  magnificent  chateau  of  Charles  Amboise 
is  as  safely  hidden  as  though  surrounded  by 
an  enchanted  forest,  for  he  erected  it  in  the 
wild  region  on  the  confines  of  Auvergne,  which 
had  proved  an  asylum  in  trouble  and  where 
his  boyhood  had  been  passed. 

The  Gothic  style  fought  hard  to  maintain 
its  supremacy,  but  its  passing  was  fated. 

If  we  regard  the  modern  era  as  beginning 
in  1492  with  the  discovery  of  America,  not  less 
significant  to  France  is  the  almost  coincident 
date  of  1491,  when  Charles  VIII.  discovered 
Italy.  The  trend  of  the  succeeding  century 
in  France  gives  the  blossoming,  fruitage,  and 
decay  of  the  Renaissance.  In  the  next  reign 
to  Charles  VIII.'s,  that  of  Louis  XII.,  we 
have  the  development  of  the  peculiar  brick 
and  stone  construction  which  bears  his  name, 
and  of  which  his  wing  at  Blois  and  the  Hotel 
de  Ville  of  'Orleans  are  the  most  familiar  ex- 
amples. But  it  is  under  Francis  I.  (1515  to 
1547)  that  we  find  native  French  Renaissance 
in  full  bloom  in  the  work  of  Pierre  Nepven 
and  the  unnamed  master  masons  who  built 
Chambord,  Chenonceau,  Azay  le  Rideau,  and 
the  rest  of  that  lovely  sisterhood. 

There    has    never    existed,     says   a    noted 


Introduction 


writer,  "  another  country  where  the  King  and 
the  nobility,  in  spite  of  continual  wars,  have  had 
sufficient  taste  for  the  arts  to  construct  in  a 
space  of  fifty  or  sixty  years  (1515-15  70)  twenty- 
four  chateaux  of  the  importance  of  Chambord 
and  Anet,  without  mentioning  innumerable 
minor  chateaux  in  all  the  provinces." 

Most  fortunately  this  prodigious  activity 
had  its  chronicler.  The  architect-author, 
Jacques  Androuet  du  Cerceau,  has  left  us  in 
his  invaluable  volumes,  Les  plus  Excellcnts 
B  Aliments  de  France,  plans,  sections,  eleva- 
tions, and  monographs  of  thirty  chateaux 
as  they  existed  in  1576. 

It  is  under  Francis  I.,  in  the  work  of  the 
Italian  artists  at  Fontainebleau,  that  the  classic 
Renaissance  approaches  its  full  perfection  of 
ordered  beauty  in  France,  a  perfection  which 
was  reached  by  the  National  school,  headed 
by  Philibert  Delorme,  Pierre  Lescot,  Jean 
Bullant,  Jean  Cousin,  and  Jean  Goujon,  in  the 
reign  of  Henri  II.  Anet,  Ecouen,  Chantilly, 
the  Louvre,  and  other  chateaux  show  us  what 
this  fair  fruitage  was. 

Jean  Goujon  marks  the  culminating  point 
of  the  French  Renaissance.  In  his  sculptures 
the  Greek  feeling  for  distinction  of  style  and 
dignity  in  monumental  decoration  was  reborn, 


xxii  Introduction 

and  combined  with  a  delicacy,  an  esprit,  a 
sympathetic  rendering  of  feminine  elegance 
essentially  French,  together  with  a  poetry,  an 
exuberance  of  joy  in  his  child  figures,  and  a 
grace  and  charm  which  were  wholly  personal. 
The  inevitable  decadence  of  art  was  to 
follow  that  of  morals.  France,  under  Catherine 
de'  Medici  and  the  later  Valois,  had  learned  all 
that  Italy  could  teach  of  corruption  as  of 
beauty,  and  its  architecture  degenerated  into 
the  senile  copying  of  antique  motives  and  con- 
tinuous plagiarism  and  theft.  This  is  the 
soulless  Renaissance  against  which  Ruskin  in- 
veighs. The  fair  fruit  of  beauty  had  developed 
into  rottenness.  Luxury,  married  to  sloth,  had 
brought  forth  a  formidable  family  of  physical, 
mental,  and  moral  degeneracy,  which,  with  the 
loss  of  ideals  of  truth,  of  virtue,  and  of  the 
sacredness  of  human  life,  brought  in  a  reign  of 
public  plunder,  social  vice,  and  cruelty  un- 
paralleled in  the  so-called  Dark  Ages,  a  state 
of  things  to  be  violently  overthrown  and  ex- 
piated by  the  Religious  Wars. 

The  history  of  a  people  is  bound  up  in  the 
homes  of  the  people,  and  what  magnificent 
volumes  of  stone,  illuminated  by  Art  and  filled 
with  traditions  of  thrilling  adventures,  are  the 


Introduction  xxiii 

stately  chateaux  of  France !  "If  you  are 
fond  of  romance,"  said  Guizot,  "  read  history." 
What  romances,  legends,  and  ballads  du 
Cerceau  must  have  gathered  as  he  rode  from 
one  castle  to  another  through  Poitou,  Anjou, 
Orleannais,  Nivernais,  Bourbonnais,  Berri, 
Limousin,  and  the  other  old  provinces,  whose 
fascinating  names  have  yielded  their  place  on 
the  map  of  France  to  the  interfluvial  nomen- 
clature of  the  departments. 

Happy  the  tourist  whose  actual  visit  has  been 
long  delayed,  and  who  has  done  much  imaginary 
travelling  at  home  through  the  medium  of  books. 
As  he  wanders  through  these  historic  halls  he 
will  experience  a  haunting  sense  of  familiar- 
ity and  ownership.  Amiable  and  garrulous 
ghosts  will  walk  with  him,  and  will  whisper  their 
confidences  in  his  ear.  They  will  peer  at  him 
through  "  Judas  -doors,"  whisper  through  the 
"  Oreilles  de  Denys,"  and  slide  secret  panels 
to  show  him  many  treasures  which  others 
will  pass  by.  He  will  come  to  the  ground 
knowing  for  what  he  is  to  search,  and  under- 
standing what  he  finds.  And  though  other 
periods  have  their  own  charm,  he  will  find  no 
pleasanter  or  more  profitable  direction  for  his 
preparatory  reading  than  the  period  of  the 
Renaissance,  when  so  many  of  the  old  feudal 


Introduction 


chateaux  were  altered  and  the  new  were  built. 

It  is  the  author's  purpose  in  the  present 
volume  to  indicate  a  few  which  she  has  found 
rich  in  artistic  beauty  and  in  romantic  associa- 
tion. The  finest,  fortunately  for  the  tourist, 
are  the  most  accessible. 

As  Touraine  is  of  all  French  provinces  the 
richest  in  these  treasures,  it  has  been  most 
visited,  and  modern  comforts  make  the  way 
easy  for  the  traveller.  A  score  of  interesting- 
chateaux  may  be  seen  within  the  radius  of  a 
few  miles  of  Tours,  while,  if  we  make  Blois 
another  centre  and  include  the  space  between 
the  two  cities,  we  shall  have  discovered  "  in- 
finite riches  in  a  little  room." 

If  the  student  of  history  would  enter  France 
by  the  door  of  the  sixteenth  century  he  can 
do  no  better  than  to  ascend  the  river  Loire 
from  its  mouth,  for  "  from  Charles  VII.  to 
Henri  III.  the  destiny  of  the  river  is  that  of  the 
nation,"  and  its  castles  were  the  homes  of  kings. 

No  chateau  in  France  impresses  the  travel- 
ler with  its  brute  strength  more  than  that  of 
Nantes.  But  it  has  also  another  claim  upon 
the  attention,  for  within  the  heart  of  the 
mediaeval  fortress  there  rises  an  exquisite  ex- 
ample of  the  early  French  Renaissance  archi- 
tecture, which  was  in  the  coming  century  to 


Introduction 

take  the  place  of  the  grim  donjon  towers  of 
the  peers  of  France.  It  is  the  early  home  of 
Anne  de  Bretagne,  and  there  is  no  sweeter 
story  in  romance  than  hers.  Each  act  of  the 
drama  has  a  chateau  for  its  mise-en-sckne,  from 
Charles's  rude  wooing  to  her  happy  wedded 
life  at  Amboise  and  Blois.  The  history  of  a 
chateau  comprises  the  events  which  have  taken 
place  within  its  walls,  the  struggle  for  its  pos- 
session, the  great  actions  for  which  it  has  been 
the  motive  or  the  recompense  ;  and  the  story 
of  the  erection  of  the  chateaux  by  the  grand 
vassals,  whether  in  magnificent  rivalry  of  the 
Crown,  or  in  desperate  defiance  before  the 
death-grapple  of  expiring  feudalism,  as  at 
Nantes,  more  stirs  the  blood  than  the  account 
of  a  monarch's  prodigal  expenditure  of  the 
nation's  resources. 

Later  in  the  century  we  can  stand  with 
Francis  II.  and  his  Court  on  the  balcony  of 
Amboise  and  watch  the  massacre  of  the 
Huguenots,  or  peer  with  Henri  III.  from  his 
chamber  at  Blois  at  the  murder  of  the  Due 
cle  Guise. 

The  appetite  for  discovery  grows  with  its 
indulgence,  and  the  pilgrim  who,  after  the 
easy  circuit  of  Touraine,  has  been  led  to  ex- 
plore the  Loire  from  the  sea  to  its  source,  will 


xxvi  Introduction 

be  an  abnormal  one  if  he  does  not  long  for 
other  untrodden  paths. 

The  chateaux  have  always  followed  the 
waterways,  and  some  of  the  most  fascinating  of 
these  are  the  tributaries  of  our  royal  highway. 
We  shall  find  scattered  along  their  course 
many  stately  homes  that  have  hidden  them- 
selves with  a  fine  reticence  in  deep  forests  or 
among  lonely  mountains,  in  desolate  wilder- 
nesses or  wide  expanse  of  wheat-fields  splashed 
with  crimson  poppies.  We  shall  find  them  far 
above  navigation,  where  the  lazy  current  hardly 
wagrs  the  heads  of  the  lilies,  or  disturbs  the 

o 

swarming  carp  as  they  darkle  in  and  out  of 
their  moats.  One  wonders  how  these  mag- 
nificent buildings  came  to  be  erected  in  these 
forsaken  spots,  and  one  glows  with  satisfaction 
at  having  discovered  a  treasure  unknown  to 
the  world  at  large. 

Everyone  visits  queenly  Chenonceau,  but 
who  knows  that  perfect  jewel-casket  of  six- 
teenth-century architecture,  the  exquisite  cha- 
teau of  St.  Aignan,  only  a  few  miles  further 
up  the  Cher  ?  Few  find  their  way  to  Berri, 
but  La  Motte  Feuilly  is  only  one  of  many  de- 
lightful manoirs  that  we  visit  while  following 
the  itinerary  which  George  Sand  marks  out 
for  us  in  the  valley  of  the  Indre.  Press  on  in 


Introduction  xxvii 

the  directiou  of  Bourges  and  you  will  be  re- 
paid by  peerless  Meillant,  the  chateau  of  the 
Iron  Fangs,  while  Auvergne  fairly  bristles  with 
feudal  strongholds,  such  as  Tournoel,  wearing 
rich  Renaissance  ornamentation  like  embroi- 
dered satin  tunics  within  their  strong  armour. 

To  cross  the  bridge  between  the  native  and 
Italian  Renaissance  the  architect  and  anti- 
quarian will  find  much  worthy  of  his  study  at 
Gaillon  in  Normandy  ;  but  the  ordinary  tourist 
will  prefer  simply  to  read  of  its  vanished 
splendours,  for  the  palatial  residence  of  Cardi- 
nal Amboise  is  now  a  prison,  and  his  sculp- 
tures and  paintings  adorn  the  museums  of 
Paris.  But  Anet,  between  Gaillon  and  Paris, 
is  still  adorable,  and  as  reminiscent  of  beautiful 
Diane  de  Poitiers  as  Fontainebleau  is  of  her 
royal  lover  and  of  the  first  Francis. 

So,  in  your  progress  from  chateau  to 
chateau,  you  may  step  down  the  century, 
with  an  ever-increasing  enthusiasm,  through 
many  charmed  summers.  Linger  at  the  ducal 
palace  of  noble  Nevers  in  company  with  the 
three  beautiful  sisters  of  Cleves,  and  at  the 
grandiose  castle  of  Foucauld  de  la  Roche, 
before  plunging  \vith  the  children  of  Catherine 
de'  Medici  into  that  maelstrom  of  intrigue 
and  murder,  the  sinister  Louvre.  And  even 


xxviii  Introduction 

in  this  evil  period  find  your  way  back  to 
the  purer  air  of  the  mountain  chateau,  as  many 
a  noble  soul  did,  thus  escaping  the  miasma  of 
the  Court.  You  will  feel  a  pang  of  pity  for 
poor  Margot,  that  noble  nature  gone  wrong, 
if  you  dwell  with  her  for  a  time  at  Nerac  and 
know  what  indignity  led  her  to  flee  to  lonely 
Usson,  and  though  nothing  remains  of  her 
fortress  but  her  chapel,  her  portrait,  and  a  few 
ruined  walls,  the  superb  view  from  that  rock 
of  her  refuge  will  repay  you  for  your  pil- 
grimage. 

Near  Vichy  is  the  chateau  of  her  friend, 
Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole,  Countess  of  Randan. 
Near  Montargis,  the  castle  of  the  Duchess 
Renee,  are  the  ruins  of  Chatillon,  the  chateau 
of  Coligny ;  at  Ecouen  and  Chantilly  the  mag- 
nificent homes  of  his  uncle,  the  Constable  de 
Montmorency.  At  Joinville  was  the  nest  of 
the  Lorrainers,  and  the  Chateau  d'Eu  in  Nor- 
mandy was  the  favorite  home  of  the  Due  de 
Guise  ;  but  it  was  from  the  portal  of  his  town 
house  in  Paris  (now  the  Musee  des  Chartes) 
that  he  rode  forth  to  the  murder  of  Coligny. 

After  a  prolonged  study  of  society  in  the 
latter  half  of  the  sixteenth  century  one  turns 
away  sick  at  heart  with  the  feeling  that,  how- 
ever brilliant,  however  fascinating,  even  lov- 


Introduction 


able,  may  have  been  many  of  the  men  and 
women  with  whom  we  have  been  intimate,  we 
have,  after  all,  been  in  very  poor  company. 
The  trail  of  the  serpent  is  over  them  all,  and 
we  cry  :  Is  there  no  one  good  —  no,  not  one? 

The  answer  comes  to  us  reassuringly  from 
the  chateau  of  Chatillon  :  "  One  man  among 
ten  thousand  have  I  found."  And  if  there 
had  been  but  that  one  he  would  have  re- 
deemed the  century.  Gaspard  de  Coligny 
was  of  the  stuff  of  which  heroes  are  made,  — 
"  a  man,"  Walter  Besant  well  says,  "  of  indomi- 
table patience,  steadfastness,  and  clearness  of 
brain,  who  brought  together  the  Protestantism 
which,  had  it  not  been  for  him,  would  have 
been  stamped  out  as  it  was  in  Spain  and  Italy  ; 
who  fought  a  losing  fight,  and  when  the  cause 
seemed  actually  won  was  struck  down  by  an 
act  of  treachery  the  like  of  which  there  is 
none  in  history." 

But  from  this  time  a  reaction  set  in  among 
all  who  were  brave  and  true  against  the  evils 
of  vileness  and  cruelty.  The  good  men  were 
not  all  on  one  side.  There  were  both  Catho- 
lics and  Huguenots  who  fought  for  the  right 
as  God  gave  them  to  see  the  right,  and  the 
pity  of  it  all  is  that  they  saw  it  so  differently. 

These    isolated    stories,   and    many  others 


xxx  Introduction 

which  you  will  find  in  the  records  and  tradi- 
tions of  the  chateaux,  are  frequently  of  ab- 
sorbing interest,  but  as  the  century  rounds  to 
its  close  you  will  comprehend  that  the  thrilling- 
incidents,  the  dramatic  episodes,  and  the  tales 
of  faithful  love  which  never  pall,  and  even  the 
acts  of  heroism,  are,  like  the  lives  of  individu- 
als, of  little  value  save  as  they  are  connecting 
links  in  the  great  chain  of  events,  the  evolu- 
tion of  a  nation.  The  furnace  fires  leave 
pure  gold,  and  the  century  ends  in  hope  with 
Henri  of  Navarre  upon  the  throne.  He  was 
not  a  flawless  hero ;  but  with  all  his  faults  he 
brought  in  the  one  great  blessing  which  the 
nation  needed  at  this  time  :  Toleration. 

An  hundred  years  gives  us  a  broad  canvas 
on  which  to  paint  our  picture,  and  the  thought- 
ful observer  can  see  in  it  how  the  minor  de- 
tails fall  into  their  places  and  the  true  import 
of  the  general  composition  is  revealed.  We 
understand,  at  last,  what  the  actors  them- 
selves did  not  understand,  the  plot  of  the  long 
drama,  the  trend  of  the  sixteenth  century. 
None,  save  that  which  saw  the  birth  of  Christ) 
was  richer  in  its  gifts  to  mankind,  for  it  gave 
us  the  Renaissance.  But  the  new  birth  of  art 
and  of  scholarship,  with  the  discoveries  of 
America,  of  the  telescope,  and  the  printing- 


Introduction  xxxi 

press,  were  as  nothing  in  importance  to  this 
boon  of  freedom  of  thought  in  religious  belief, 
brought  in  at  this  time  of  the  Reformation,  and 
fought  for  by  the  noblest,  the  most  intelligent, 
and  the  bravest  men  of  France.  The  Religious 
Wars  were  the  destruction  of  many  of  the  cha- 
teaux which  the  Renaissance  had  built,  but, 
much  as  we  regret  the  loss  to  art  of  the  beautiful 
buildings  which  crashed  down  in  the  storm  of 
blood  and  flame  which  swept  over  the  land, 
more  precious  is  the  legacy  of  heroism  left  by 
that  troubled  last  third  of  the  century, — the 
Renaissance  of  the  ideal  in  character  and  life. 


ROMANCE  OF  THE 
RENAISSANCE  CHATEAUX 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  BOOK  OF  HOURS  OF  CHARLOTTE 
D'ALBRET 

I 

THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  FLYING   QUILLS 

LOUIS  XI.  was  dead,  and  no  one  mourned, 
except  perchance  the  new  King,  his  gen- 
tle son  Charles,  who  had  no  cause  for  poignant 
grief,  but  who  gave  himself  up  to  the  luxury 
of  sorrow  because  he  was  of  a  melancholy  as 
well  as  of  a  forgiving  nature  and  sadness  was 
his  accustomed  mood.  But  all  over  France, 
from  the  people  whom  he  had  oppressed,  from 
the  great  vassals  whom  he  had  stripped  of  their 
lands  and  prerogatives,  at  the  word,  "  The  King 
is  dead,"  there  went  up  in  that  year  of  1483  the 


2  Renaissance  Chateaux 

utterance,  "  Thank  God  !  Live  Charles  the 
Eighth  !  for  now  we  shall  see  better  days." 

None  grieved  less  than  he  who  stood  next 
the  throne,  our  Knight  of  the  Flying  Quills, 
as  sensitive  and  as  inconsiderately  resentful  as 
the  porcupine  upon  his  blazon, —  Louis,  Duke 
of  Orleans,  to  be  known  later  as  Louis  XII. 
of  France.  But  his  wrongs  under  the  late 
King  were  to  meet  with  no  immediate  redress. 
Scarcely  at  the  royal  residence  of  Amboise 
were  the  funeral  baked  meats  eaten  when 
the  duel  began  between  Anne  de  Beaujeu, 
daughter  of  Louis  XL,  and  Louis  d'Orleans. 
Openly  before  the  States-General  the  Duke 
of  Orleans  disputed  the  regency  with  her,  and, 
furious  at  finding  himself  defeated,  retired  to 
his  chateau  of  Blois.  Here  he  was  joined  by 
other  disaffected  lords  who  fed  his  sense  of 
grievance  and  urged  him  to  join  with  them  in 
revolt.  In  this  emergency  Louis  took  counsel 
of  his  best  friend,  George  Amboise. 

Brought  up  in  his  ancestral  chateau  of  Chau- 
mont,  between  Blois  and  Amboise,  this  young 
noble  had  received  his  education  at  the  cult- 
ured court  of  Louis's  father,  Duke  Charles  of 
Orleans,  the  most  lettered  prince  of  his  day. 
Though  early  destined  for  the  Church,  George 
Amboise  was  accomplished  in  all  courtly 


The  Book  of  Hours  3 

graces  ;  Louis  XI.  had  made  him  his  almoner, 
and  he  held  the  same  office  under  Charles  VIII. 

Anne  de  Beaujeu  knew  that  George  Amboise 
was  devoted  to  Louis  d'Orleans,  therefore 
when  her  brother's  almoner  asked  permission 
to  visit  his  mother  at  Chaumont,  the  servant 
who  rode  behind  him  was  well  paid  by  the 
rdgente  to  listen,  to  spy,  and  to  report  to  her 
all  that  was  done  and  said.  Little  satisfac- 
tion it  could  have  given  her,  for  there  was  no 
harm  in  the  fact  that  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
had  chanced  to  ride  over  from  Blois  while  his 
friend  was  at  Chaumont,  and  that  they  talked 
late  into  the  night.  The  spy  listening  behind 
the  tapestry  heard  George  Amboise  counsel 
his  friend  earnestly  and  wisely.  "  Remem- 
ber," he  said,  "  the  race  from  which  you  spring. 
The  heir  to  the  throne  of  France  must  not  be 
a  traitor." 

"  God  knows  that  I  am  loyal  to  Charles," 
the  Duke  replied ;  "  a  gentler  soul  never 
breathed,  but  my  lady  of  Beaujeu,  who  would 
whip  me  like  a  schoolboy, —  nay,  I  could  for- 
give her,  were  the  tables  so  turned  that  she 
were  well  afraid  of  me." 

"  Then,  Louis,  your  hatred  is  not  mortal,  but 
much  akin  to  the  feeling  with  which  the  Prin- 
cess inspires  .his  Royal  Highness." 


4  Renaissance  Chateaux 

"  What !  do  you  tell  me  that  Charles  is 
weary  of  his  sister's  regency  ?  " 

"  I  sounded  the  King  this  morning,  and  he 
told  me  that  he  would  gladly  visit  you  at 
Blois." 

"  Then  by  St.  George  !  I  will  go  and  fetch 
him.  My  castle  is  full  of  knights  who  would 
welcome  no  merrier  play  than  to  take  the 
chateau  of  Amboise  by  storm." 

"  Nay,  Louis,  there  must  be  no  fighting. 
Come  to  Chaumont  to-morrow  with  a  small 
band  of  followers  ;  the  day  after,  the  King  will 
hunt  on  the  eastern  limit  of  the  forest  of  Am- 
boise. We  will  separate  ourselves  from  the 
others  and  ride  to  the  hunting-lodge  of  Chau- 
mont. Have  fresh  horses  there  and  we  will 
be  here  by  noon.  Then  the  King  can  confer 
with  you.  But  give  me  your  oath,  Louis,  that 
he  shall  be  free  to  return  if  he  wishes, — that 
you  will  not  carry  him  away  against  his  will." 

It  was  a  good  scheme  and  might  have  suc- 
ceeded but  for  the  rat  in  the  arras.  Louis  of 
Orleans  waited  with  four  hundred  lancers  at 
the  appointed  rendezvous,  but  instead  of  the 
royal  huntsman  there  came  a  falconer  whose 
horse  fell  under  him  with  the  speed  of  his  rac- 
ing, and  who  cried,  "  Fly,  my  Lord  Duke,  you 
are  betrayed  !  Your  plan  is  known  to  my  lady 


CHATEAU   OF  CHAUMONT. 


The  Book  of  Hours  5 

of  Beaujeu.  The  Royal  Almoner  has  been 
arrested,  and  orders  have  been  issued  in  the 
King's  name  to  seize  your  person." 

"  If  George  Amboise  is  in  prison  then  we 
will  attack  the  castle  and  set  him  free." 

"  That  were  madness,  my  Lord,  for  the 
place  is  the  strongest  in  the  kingdom  ;  besides, 
my  master,  who  sends  you  this  warning,  bade 
me  assure  you  that  he  will  see  to  the  safety  of 
your  friend  and  his ;  only  fly  quickly  and  be 
not  found  in  this  part  of  the  country." 

"Who  sent  you — who  is  your  master?" 
asked  Louis  ;  "  give  me  some  token  that  I  may 
trust  your  word." 

The  messenger  drew  from  his  pouch  a  fal- 
con's hood,  to  which  were  attached  some  tiny 
silver  bells,  and  Louis,  seeing  the  fleur-de-lis 
engraved  on  each  of  these,  knew  that  the 
King  himself  had  sent  the  message. 

The  Duke  rode  swiftly  toward  Blois,  but  he 
had  hardly  traversed  half  the  distance  when 
he  was  met  by  Dunois,  his  cousin  of  the  left 
bend,  the  son  of  the  great  Batard  d'Orleans. 
This  brave  man  was  always  as  devoted  a 
champion  of  the  legitimate  head  of  his  house 
as  his  father  had  been  before  him,  and  he 
caught  at  Louis's  bridle,  turning  his  horse 
sharply  around. 


6  Renaissance  Chateaux 

He  cried  as  he  did  so,  "  Back,  my  Lord  ! 
Blois  is  in  the  hands  of  the  King's  troops. 
They  are  commanded  by  Louis  de  la  Tre- 
mouille,  and  I  ran  from  him  as  I  never  ran  be- 
fore, that  I  might  give  you  warning.  God 
send  that  I  meet  him  face  to  face  again  that  I 
wipe  out  the  disgrace  of  that  running." 

"  We  will  wipe  it  out  now  if  you  say  so," 
said  Louis. 

"  Nay,  my  Lord,  they  are  too  many  for  you  ; 
but  ride  to  my  strong  castle  of  Langeais,  and 
from  thence  we  can  parley  with  the  King,  and 
if  need  be  escape  into  Brittany." 

"  So  be  it,  Dunois,"  replied  Louis  ;  "  but  if  I 
am  driven  to  Brittany  help  me  to  remember 
that  it  is  into  exile,  not  into  rebellion." 

II 

THE   BOOK  OF   HOURS 

Whereby  it  is  shown  that  he  who  would  stroke  a  porcu- 
pine should  stroke  him  in  the  right  direction. 

I,  Charlotte  Borgia,  nte  d'Albret,  am  a  lonely 
woman,  for  all  my  days  now  are  ember-days, 
and  the  chill  of  a  winter  of  the  heart  touches 
even  the  sunniest  morning.  But  it  was  not 
always  thus,  for  my  girlhood  was  full  of  ad- 
venture and  movement  and  of  the  hopes  and 


The  Book  of  Hours  7 

fears  that  thrill  the  blood  and  make  life  worth 
battling  for.  I  am  happiest  when  these  memor- 
ies talk  with  me,  and  I  have  thought  to  solace 
my  solitude  by  setting  down  a  record  of  those 
hours  of  felicity  and  despair,  of  heroism  and 
rapture. 

I  was  born  in  the  castle  of  Nerac  in  Gas- 
cony,  and  brought  up  by  my  good  mother 
simply  and  sweetly,  until  her  death  in  my  fif- 
teenth year,  when  my  father  took  me  to  Nantes 
to  be  bred  in  the  household  of  Duke  Francis 
and  to  be  a  companion  to  his  daughter,  the 
Lady  Anne. 

With  this  change  began  my  adventures,  for 
the  Duke  was  deep  in  his  plots,  having  been 
driven  thereto  by  the  tyranny  of  King  Louis 
XI.  I  have  heard  that  this  unworthy  sovereign 
paid  the  Duke  a  visit  for  no  other  purpose  than 
to  judge  of  the  strength  of  his  defences,  and 
when  the  Duke  showed  him  the  walls  and 
towers  of  the  castle  of  Nantes  he  exclaimed, 
"  By  St.  Martin  of  Tours  !  here  is  a  fortress 
where  all  the  kings  in  the  world  might  believe 
themselves  safe." 

And  he  micfht  well  have   been  astonished, 

o 

for,  save  the  castle  of  Foulque  Nerra  of  Angers, 

there  was  no  chateau  fort  in  France  so  strong. 

Before  the  invention  of  gunpowder  it  passed 


8  Renaissance  Chateaux 

for  being  impregnable.  But  Duke  Francis 
well  knew  that,  though  it  could  withstand 
battering-rams  and  trtbuchets,  so  much  of  that 
devil's  dust  as  a  man  might  carry  would  cause 
its  walls  to  totter.  He  knew,  too,  that  sol- 
diers armed  with  arquebuses  could  strip  the 
archers  from  his  walls  while  at  a  safe  distance 
from  their  arrows,  and  that  the  only  way  to 
contend  against  an  enemy  bearing  weapons  of 
such  long  range  was  to  provide  himself  with 
the  like. 

Therefore,  after  the  visit  of  his  Majesty,  the 
Duke  issued  a  proclamation  that,  whereas  the 
castle  of  Nantes  was  in  a  decayed  and  anti- 
quated condition  utterly  unworthy  to  entertain 
a  royal  guest,  in  order  that  it  might  be  put  in 
suitable  state  for  the  reception  of  any  future 
visit  of  his  sovereign,  therefore,  and  for  that 
cause,  he  levied  extra  taxes  upon  all  his  sub- 
jects for  the  coming  ten  years.  And  now 
Mathurin  Rodier  was  made  master  of  the 
works,  and  hewn  stone  was  brought  in  great 
quantity,  and  two  great  towers  were  built  on 
each  side  of  a  new  entrance,  making  as  it  were 
an  advance  fort  or  barbican  in  front  of  the 
chateau.  Other  flanking  towers  were  built 

o 

out  from  the  walls,  especially  the  great  Span- 
ish Tower,  in  the  lower  story  of  which  was 


The  Book  of  Hours  9 

built  a  strong  chamber  called  the  Tresor,  and 
the  English  Tower,  which  was  a  prison.  And 
none  could  fail  to  mark  the  Duke's  haughti- 
ness in  naming  two  of  his  new  towers  after 
foreign  nations  that  were  at  enmity  with 
France.  To  furnish  well  these  new  buildings, 
the  Duke  received  from  England  a  shipload  of 
new  artillery,  being  sixty-three  great  cannons, 
culverins,  and  serpentines,  with  a  great  store 
of  arbalists,  brigandines,  and  smaller  firearms, 
with  ball  of  suitable  size  and  much  store  of 
powder. 

While  all  these  warlike  preparations  were 
in  progress  to  put  the  castle  in  a  state  to  resist 
a  siege,  the  Duke  astonished  all  beholders  by 
causing  to  be  constructed  in  the  ample  court  of 
the  fortress  a  new  and  more  palatial  residence 
than  the  one  which  had  served  his  forbears  as  a 
home.  This  new  building  was  called  the  grand 
logis,  and  when  it  was  completed  it  vied  in  the 
elegance  of  its  fa9ade,  in  its  stately  apartments, 
and  in  the  luxury  of  its  furnishing  with  any 
chateau  of  that  time,  and  was  far  more,  mag- 
nificent than  the  King's  gloomy  castles  of 
Loches,  Plessis  les  Tours,  and  Amboise. 

The  chateau  shot  up  with  marvellous  rap- 
idity, its  staircase  tower,  slender  and  tall,  like 
a  lily-stalk,  the  white  stone  blossoming  out 


io  Renaissance  Chateaux 

at  the  top  in  sculpture  curving  like  the  lily's 
petals. 

The  Italian  style  had  not  yet  laid  its  heavy 
hand  on  our  ogival  arches  and  flattened  them 
to  half-circles.  There  were  wayward  flam- 
boyant curves,  sharply  pointed  accolades  above 
the  dormers,  pinched  together  at  the  tip  like 
Cupid's  bow  ;  but  there  was  greater  breadth 
in  the  windows  and  everywhere  more  of  com- 
fort. 

So  the  castle  grew,  and  even  the  least 
thoughtful  of  those  who  casually  watched  the 
masons  at  their  work  were  ware  that  the 
Duke  meant,  by  its  building,  to  flaunt  his 
magnificence  more  ostentatiously  in  the  eye  of 
the  world,  and  to  defend  it  against  all  quest- 
ioners. 

And  the  significant  preparations  of  the  mili- 
tary engineers  were  not  confined  to  Nantes. 
Rennes  had  its  walls  strengthened,  fortifica- 
tions were  thrown  up  about  all  the  towns  on 
the  French  frontier,  the  Loire  was  chained  at 
several  points,  watch-towers  were  garrisoned, 
soldiers  were  set  to  drilling,  and  laden  wains 
brought  in  provisions. 

So  matters  stood  when  my  father  brought 
me  to  Nantes.  My  aunt,  Fran9oise  de  Cha- 
teaubriand, was  gouvernante  of  the  daughter 


The  Book  of  Hours  1 1 

of  the  Duke  of  Brittany  and  it  was  fitting 
that  she  should  exercise  the  same  office  for 
her  motherless  niece.  But  neither  the  Lady 
Anne  nor  I  loved  her  greatly.  She  was  a  sly 
cat,  given  to  listening  at  doors,  and  I  have 
seen  her  open  letters  which  were  none  of  hers, 
from  idle  curiosity  as  I  then  fancied,  but, 
I  have  since  been  led  to  suspect,  for  more 
shameful  reasons. 

One  morning  Dame  Fran9oise  announced, 
to  our  great  delectation,  that  for  the  present 
there  would  be  no  more  lessons,  for  Louis 
d'Orleans  had  sent  to  beg  the  hospitality  of 
our  castle.  With  shrieks  of  joy  we  flung 
aside  our  embroidery  frames  and  set  ourselves 
to  the  task  of  providing  for  his  reception. 

He  had  said  that  he  would  not  come  alone, 
for  though  he  was  fleeing  as  a  fugitive  it  was 
with  a  bodyguard  of  four  hundred  lancers, 
and  other  bands  of  armed  men  would  fol- 
low when  they  heard  the  news.  So  many 
hungry  guests  might  well  have  dismayed  the 
most  generous  host,  but  Duke  Francis's  heart 
leaped  as  he  prepared  to  give  them  a  royal 
welcome.  Every  man-at-arms  was  bestowed 
in  comfortable  quarters  in  the  city.  Oxen  and 
sheep  were  barbecued  and  tons  of  wine 
broached,  and  meals  served  in  the  town  hall, 


12  Renaissance  Chateaux 

while  to  Louis  d'Orleans  and  his  more  intim- 
ate friends  were  assigned  the  most  luxuri- 
ous rooms  of  the  ducal  chateau.  When  he 
dismounted  from  his  tired  horse  at  the  draw- 
bridge and  walked  into  the  court  I  could  see 
that  he  was  surprised  and  touched  by  the 
brilliancy  of  the  reception  which  we  had  pre- 
pared. From  every  window  we  had  hung 
tapestries  and  velvet  curtains,  stiff  with  gold 
needlework,  and  the  court  was  spread  with  a 
costly  Oriental  carpet,  around  whose  marge 
were  drawn  up  knights  in  glittering  armour, 
and  fair  women  who  waved  scarfs  and  scat- 
tered flowers,  as  though  he  came  as  a  victor 
instead  of  an  hunted  exile.  Lights  shone 
within  the  grand  logis,  and  music  sounded, 
and  withal  a  most  appetising  odour  rose  from 
the  kitchens. 

Duke  Francis,  richly  dressed,  met  him  in  the 
centre  of  the  court,  with  most  effusive  wel- 
come, and  led  him  to  the  doorway  of  the 
staircase  tower,  in  whose  dark  arch  the  Lady 
Anne  was  standing,  and  I  behind  her,  my 
arms  filled  by  the  train  of  her  robe  ;  for  she 
had  decked  herself  in  her  bravest.  She  was 
petite  of  figure,  but  there  was  a  natural  dig- 
nity in  her  poise,  and  from  the  vantage-point 
of  the  flight  of  steps  she  looked  down  on  her 


The  Book  of  Hours  13 

guest  and  gave  him  her  hand  to  kiss  as  from 
a  throne. 

The  Duke  of  Orleans  kept  his  grasp  on  the 
slender  fingers  after  touching  them  with  his 
lips,  asking  the  Lady  Anne,  in  his  courtly  way, 
to  lead  him  into  the  house,  and  she,  with  per- 
fect self-possession,  as  stately  and  as  grace- 
fully as  though  they  were  treading  a  measure, 
led  to  the  banqueting-hall.  Duke  Francis 
followed  by  my  side,  hardly  knowing  whether 
to  be  pleased  or  vexed  by  the  new  airs  which 
his  daughter  had  taken  upon  herself.  The 
feast  was  one  befitting  the  occasion,  and  our 
guests  did  it  full  honour,  for  it  was  not  until 
the  fish,  for  which  our  Breton  coast  is  noted, 
and  the  roast  boar  and  venison  of  our  forests 
had  taken  the  keen  edge  from  his  appetite, 
that  the  gaze  of  Louis  d'Orleans  dwelt  again 
upon  the  Lady  Arine.  I,  who  sat  opposite  and 
marked  him  well,  saw  somewhat  of  amusement 
in  the  smile  which  curled  his  lips  as  he  noted 
her  quaint  Breton  cap,  and  the  cut  of  her  rich 
robe,  stiff  with  broidery  of  gold  thread.  I 
was  at  a  loss  to  understand  the  look,  for  her 
dress  was  very  costly,  and  it  was  fastened  with 
diamond  buttons  and  bordered  with  the  richest 
ermine.  I  knew  long  after  that  it  was  be- 
cause it  was  more  suitable  to  a  grand  dame 


14  Renaissance  Chateaux 

than  to  a  young  girl  that  he  had  smiled,  ask- 
ing himself  as  he  did  so,  whether  this  child 
imagined  herself  an  empress.  And  during  all 
that  season  that  he  bided  with  us  he  treated 
the  Lady  Anne  with  the  same  ill-concealed 
raillery,  as  though  she  were  indeed  a  spoiled 
child,  playing  at  dignity  in  her  mother's  robes. 
This  irked  my  lady,  and  many  a  time  I  have 
seen  her  lips  straighten  and  her  breath  come 
quick  at  his  mock  homage,  but  she  restrained 
herself,  for  she  knew  the  devoir  of  a  hostess, 
and  of  how  great  moment  it  was  that  the 
Duke  of  Orleans  should  be  persuaded  to  take 
the  command  of  the  League ;  but  woman-like 
she  took  her  aim  obliquely. 

The  Lady  Anne  and  I  saw  more  of  Louis 
d'Orleans  while  he  was  a  guest  at  the  chateau 
of  Nantes  than  did  Duke  Francis,  for  the 
Duke  was  continually  urging  upon  him  the 
coalition,  and  Louis  was  not  sure  of  his  way 
and  was  glad  to  escape  from  his  host.  He 
saw  now  that  he  stood  upon  the  brink  of  an 
abyss,  and  he  longed  to  throw  himself  at 
Charles's  feet  and  ask  his  forgiveness,  so  he 
made  one  last  effort  and  wrote  the  King,  and 
until  the  answer  to  that  letter  came,  he  would 
not  listen  to  the  importunity  of  the  lords  or 
talk  with  them  in  the  great  salle  d'armes. 


The  Book  of  Hours  15 

So  we  showed  him  the  glittering  chapel  in 
the  heart  of  the  rough  Tour  du  Fer-de-Cheval, 
which  Louis  said  was  like  a  fair  woman  in  the 
clasp  of  a  mailed  arm,  and  all  the  bravery  of 
the  new  chateau.  The  Lady  Anne  led  him 
even  to  her  own  bower,  a  little  scriptorium 
where  we  sported  with  colours,  making  on  bits 
of  vellum  devices  for  our  broidery,  and 
she  asked,  "  Tell  me  the  meaning  of  your 
blazon,  the  porcupine,  for  it  is  not  a  pretty 
beast." 

"  My  grandfather  chose  it,"  he  replied,  "  in 
defiance  of  his  enemies,  as  the  creature  who 
would  least  bear  provocation." 

"  Methinks,"  replied  Anne,  "  that  you  should 
choose  another  emblem,  since  your  quills  fly 
not  when  you  are  threatened." 

Louis's  cheek  flushed.  "  It  is  best  not  to  be 
too  hasty,  lest  one  wound  a  friend,"  he  an- 
swered. "  And  your  choice  of  the  ermine  as 
your  blazon — is  it  more  fitting  ?  In  France  the 
fur  of  the  ermine  is  not  worn  save  by  kings  or 
queens,  but  you  flaunt  it  on  your  escutcheon 
and  wear  it  most  commonly." 

"  It  is  fitting,"  the  Lady  Anne  replied,  "for 
I  shall  be  a  queen.  I  have  already  been  be- 
sought in  marriage  by  princes,  and  I  shall 
never  wed  save  with  a  king  !  " 


1 6  Renaissance  Chateaux 

Louis  d'Orleans  bowed  with  pretence  of 
homage.  "  And  has  your  ladyship  made  her 
choice  among  the  crowned  heads  of  Christen- 
dom ?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  she  made  answer  in  all  sober- 
ness. "  I  was  to  have  been  Queen  of 
England,  but  my  prince  was  foully  murdered. 
I  may  wed  with  Maximilian  of  Austria,  for  I 
am  asked  for  him." 

"  Nay,"  cried  Louis,  and  all  of  a  sudden  he 
was  in  dead  earnest ;  "  if  needs  be  that  you 
marry  a  king  he  should  be  king  of  France  ;  it 
were  disloyalty  to  carry  this  fair  domain  of 
Brittany  as  dower  to  a  foreign  sovereign." 

"  Tell  me  of  the  King  of  France,"  she  said 
eagerly.  "  What  manner  of  man  is  Charles  ?  " 

"Charles  is  no  man,"  Louis  replied,  "he  is 
but  a  boy  ;  but  the  gentlest  and  lovingest  that 
ever  lived.  He  is  my  friend  and  I  can  say  no 
ill  of  him.  I  hate  only  those  who  hold  him  in 
tutelage.  See,  here  is  his  miniature  which  I 
carry  always  with  me.  What  think  you  of 
that  face?" 

"  That  he  is  a  rare  handsome  youth  an  it 
is  a  true  mirror.  Tell  me,  Dame  Fran£oise, 
have  you  ever  seen  more  beautiful  eyes  ?  " 

My  aunt  took  the  miniature  from  the  Lady 
Anne's  hand  and  replied  spitefully,  "  He  is  far 


The  Book  of  Hours  1 7 

too  handsome  for  a  man.  Such  soft  eyes  be- 
token a  womanish  nature." 

"  Nay,"  retorted  Louis,  "  he  hath  a  manly 
courage ;  you  should  see  how  fearlessly  he  rides, 
and  he  hath  beaten  me  often  at  paume." 

"  But  they  say,"  persisted  the  Lady  Anne, 
"  that  he  is  ignorant  and  ill-mannered." 

"  Who  says  that  ?  "  Louis  cried  hotly. 

"  Why,  Dame  Fran9oise  here." 

"  Then  Madame  has  been  ill-informed,  for 
though  he  is  no  great  scholar  (his  father  through 
low  fear  of  his  heir  having  kept  him  unlet- 
tered), he  is  by  nature  well  endowed,  and  so 
courteous  that  he  wins  all  hearts." 

"You  plead  the  King's  cause  well,"  said  my 
aunt  scornfully.  "  He  should  richly  repay 
such  an  ambassador." 

Louis  stared  at  her  in  open-mouthed  won- 
derment but  he  was  too  chivalrous  to  answer 
her  as  she  deserved.  "  I  am  no  man's  ambas- 
sador— I  am  but  his  friend." 

"  You  are  his  brother-in-law,"  my  aunt 
hissed,  "  and  doubtless  love  him,  as  you  do 
your  sweet  sister-in-law,  and  your  beauteous 
wife." 

Louis  turned  his  back  upon  her,  his  face 
purple,  but  he  saw  the  Lady  Anne's  gaze 
fixed  upon  him  sadly  and  questioningly,  and 


1 8  Renaissance  Chateaux 

he  came  and  stood  before  her.  "  Since  men- 
tion has  been  made  of  the  Princess  Jeanne,  I 
would  have  you  know  how  matters  stand 
between  us." 

"  There  is  no  need  of  telling,"  my  aunt  cried 
from  behind  him;  "we  do  not  care  to  know." 

"/care,"  said  the  Lady  Anne.  "They  say 
that  she  is  good.  Do  men,  then,  love  women 
only  for  their  beauty  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know  how  or  why  love  comes, 
sweet  cousin.  I  only  know  that  were  she 
beautiful,  and  still  Jeanne,  I  could  not  love 
her.  She  knew  it  from  the  first,  when  I  told 
the  King  before  her  face  that  I  would  die 
rather  than  marry  her.  'Then  die,'  he  said, 
and  strode  from  us  in  anger.  She  ran  to  me, 
her  face  all  white  with  fear.  '  He  will  kill  you,' 
she  said,  '  unless  you  feign  to  consent.  We 
will  live  apart,  and  I  will  never  ask  caress  or 
devoir,  only  withstand  him  not,  for  so  you 
die.'  So  when  we  stood  before  the  priest, 
and  he  asked  if  I  took  her  for  my  wedded 
wife,  I  answered,  '  Nay '  ;  but  none  heard  me 
but  Jeanne,  for  I  spoke  beneath  my  breath  ; 
and  we  twain  have  lived  apart,  waiting  only  for 
her  father's  death  to  openly  repudiate  the  false 
relation  into  which  he  fancied  he  had  forced 
us.  They  have  banished  George  Amboise  to 


The  Book  of  Hours  19 

his  bishopric  of  Narbonne,  but  he  is  near  to 
Italy,  and  he  will  plead  our  desire  for  a  di- 
vorce with  the  Pope,  who  will  doubtless  grant 
Jeanne's  request  to  enter  a  religious  life.  She 
has  lived  it  since  our  mock  marriage  in  all  but 
name." 

So  the  days  passed  in  the  castle  of  Nantes  ; 
but  it  was  not  all  dalliance  in  lady's  bower,  for 
the  nobles  who  had  gathered  clamoured  for 
Louis's  decision,  and  Louis  d'Orleans  himself 
grew  impatient  for  the  answer  to  the  letter 
which  he  had  written  the  King.  And  at  last  a 
royal  herald  blew  his  trumpet  before  the  draw- 
bridge. Louis  had  been  holding  a  skein  of 
silk  for  the  Lady  Anne  to  wind,  but  at  that 
martial  sound  he  threw  it  from  his  hands  as  it 
had  been  a  fetter,  and  ran  to  the  window. 
"  It  is  my  answer,"  he  cried  joyfully  ;  "  my  fate 
is  in  the  message  which  that  herald  brings." 

The  Lady  Anne  turned  white.  "  And  will 
you  desert  us,  Louis?"  she  asked,  all  a- 
tremble. 

My  aunt,  agog  to  know  the  news  brought 
by  the  herald,  had  run  from  the  room,  and  they 
made  no  more  note  of  me  than  of  the  hound 
that  rose  and  shook  himself,  wondering  at  the 
commotion.  Louis  took  both  the  Lady 
Anne's  hands  in  his  and  said  tenderly,  "  If 


20  Renaissance  Chateaux 

the  King  calls  me,  by  my  fealty,  I  must  go, 
sweet  cousin." 

She  would  have  swooned,  but  he  caught  her 
in  his  arms  and  kissed  her,  and  she  clung  to 
him,  hiding  her  face  upon  his  shoulder  and 
weeping.  While  they  stood  thus  there  came 
a  trampling  on  the  stairs  and  a  confused  noise. 
Duke  Francis's  hoarse  voice  swearing  above 
the  rest  his  favourite  oath  :  "  By  Notre  Dame 
Du  Guescclin, — What  will  Louis  d'Orleans 
say  to  this  ?  Let  the  herald  wait  in  the  guard- 
chamber  till  we  have  his  answer." 

The  Lady  Anne  shrank  into  the  embrasure 
of  the  window,  and  Louis  received  the  Duke 
as,  followed  by  the  lords,  he  strode  into  the 
room  and  read  the  royal  summons. 

It  demanded  the  submission  of  Duke  Fran- 
cis, the  dispersion  of  the  rebellious  troops 
assembled  at  the  chateau  of  Nantes,  the  dis- 
mantling of  the  aforesaid  castle,  and  the  sur- 
render of  the  person  of  Louis  d'Orleans  to  be 
tried  for  his  life  for  high  treason  ;  and  it  an- 
nounced that  in  default  of  obedience  to  these 
commands,  the  castle  would  be  taken  by  storm 
and  its  defenders  given  no  quarter. 

"  The  die  is  cast,"  said  Louis,  and  the  lords 
hailed  him  as  their  leader  with  loud  acclaim, 
while  the  Duke  seized  inkhorn  and  paper 


The  Book  of  Hours  21 

and  sat  down  to  answer  the  menace  with 
defiance. 

My  father  alone  glowered  angrily  instead 
of  joining  in  the  cheers  of  the  knights.  "  Duke 
Francis  is  my  commander,"  he  growled  to  his 
beard.  "  I  swear  no  fealty  but  to  him." 

When  the  lords  had  gone  out,  leaving  Duke 
Francis  with  us,  Louis  d'Orleans  asked  how 
he  had  displeased  the  Sieur  d'Albret. 

"It  is  naught,"  said  the  Duke;  "the  grisly 
old  warrior  is  angered  because  Anne  will  not 
marry  him.  He  is  an  ill-favoured  widower 
and  as  old  as  her  father.  'T  is  no  wonder  she 
finds  you  handsomer." 

"  It  is  not  for  his  looks  or  for  his  age  that 
I  have  said  him  nay,"  said  the  Lady  Anne 
proudly.  "  I  have  declared  openly  that  I  will 
wed  with  no  one  but  a  king." 

"Anne  is  right,"  said  the  Duke;  "we  will 
put  Alain  off  by  replying  that  nothing  can  be 
decided  until  this  conflict  is  over.  If  we  suc- 
ceed she  is  too  great  a  match  for  him  ;  if  we 
fail  she  is  no  match  for  anyone." 

"  We  shall  not  fail,"  replied  Louis.  "  My 
state  is  in  like  dubiety.  The  Duke  of  Or- 
leans is  in  no  position  to  ask  the  woman  he 
loves  to  link  her  life  with  his,  but  when  he 
comes  to  this  castle  again  it  will  be  as  a  free 


22  Renaissance  Chateaux 

man,  to  crave  the  hand  of  the  Lady  Anne  for 
the  King  of  France." 

A  sudden  transformation  swept  over  Anne's 
entire  being.  It  was  as  though  at  that  instant 
the  girl  had  blossomed  into  womanhood.  She 
drew  herself  up  proudly,  a  flush  of  crimson 
dyeing  her  face  and  throat,  and  stretched  out 
her  arms  to  Louis,  who  gathered  her  within 
his  own. 

Duke  Francis  laid  his  hand  upon  the  young 
man's  shoulder.  "  It  is  enough,"  he  said  ;  "  let 
this  betrothal  be  a  secret  between  us  four. 
The  time  has  not  yet  come." 

From  that  day  Louis  dwelt  no  more  with 
us,  but  departed  in  command  of  a  division  of 
soldiers  who  were  to  hold  the  city  of  Rennes. 
Before  he  went,  Duke  Francis  assembled  all 
the  lords  of  Brittany  and  made  them  swear 
before  the  altar  that  in  the  event  of  his  death 
they  would  continue  the  war  under  the  Duch- 
ess Anne,  and  that  they  would  never  yield 
their  fealty  to  any  but  to  her,  or  to  her 
descendants.  They  swore  it  to  a  man,  except 
the  Seigneur  de  Rohan,  who  came  not,  and  it 
was  a  brave  sight  when  they  unsheathed  their 
swords,  and  the  Duke  led  his  daughter  under 
that  ^litterincr  arch.  She  wore  a  little  cor- 

<r>  fj 

onet,    and  her   great    sleeves    were   bordered 


The  Book  of  Hours  23 

deeply  with  ermine.  Neither  Louis  d'Orleans 
nor  my  father  were  Bretons,  though  they  sprang 
to  their  feet  with  one  accord  and  faced  each 
other,  the  last  two  in  that  line  of  vassals  ;  but 
when  their  blades  flew  out  and  clashed  against 
each  other  there  was  an  evil  look  in  Alain 
d'Albret's  eyes.  Baffled  desire  had  made  him 
suspicious,  and  he  understood  the  devotion  on 
Louis  d'Orleans's  face,  and  liked  not  the  flick- 
ering smile  which  played  around  the  lips  of 
the  Lady  Anne. 

Very  shortly  we  of  Nantes  had  other  things 
to  think  of  than  love-making,  for  King  Charles 
sent  Montpensier  to  besiege  our  castle.  We 
had  no  lack  of  ammunition  or  of  men  ;  there 
were  so  many  of  the  latter  that  the  Duke  saw 
that  if  the  siege  were  long  continued  there 
would  be  dearth  of  provisions,  and  as  the 
army  was  wary  enough  not  to  come  within 
reach  of  the  guns  Dunois  made  a  sortie  with 
five  hundred  of  his  "  black  crosses,"  and  at- 
tacked Montpensier,  fighting  so  valiantly  that 
the  siege  was  raised. 

We  might,  too,  have  won  the  great  and  de- 
cisive battle  of  St.  Aubin,  which  was  fought 

o 

the  next  season,  but  for  perfidy,  of  which  I 
take  shame  to  write.  I  have  spoken  of  the 
disloyalty  of  the  Seigneur  de  Rohan.  He 


24  Renaissance  Chateaux 

was  a  cruel  man,  who  had  shut  up  his  sister  in 
a  cell  at  the  base  of  one  of  the  towers  of  his 
chateau  of  Le  Verger,  because,  forsooth,  the 
poor  lady  had  loved  beneath  her  station  an 
honest  Breton  gentleman,  named  Rene  Keo- 
dreux.  Her  prison  had  a  grated  window, 
which  gave  upon  the  park,  and  she  wrote  her 
lover  to  come  to  her  there,  to  plan  for  her 
rescue.  Her  jailer,  though  he  took  her  bribe, 
showed  the  letter  to  her  brother,  who,  never- 
theless, caused  it  to  be  delivered,  for  it  was 
his  desire  to  draw  the  unsuspecting  man  into 
a  trap.  So,  nothing  doubting,  Keodreux  came 
like  a  true  lover,  and  De  Rohan's  men  rushed 
out,  and  unmindful  of  the  shrieks  of  the  poor 
lady  killed  him  under  her  eyes. 

Duke  Francis  was  noted  for  the  sternness 
with  which  he  restrained  the  violence  of  his 
barons.  (It  was  for  that  reason  his  daughter 
caused  to  be  sculptured  beside  his  tomb  the  fig- 
ure of  Force  drawing  a  dragon  from  a  castle.) 
When  he  heard  of  this  lawlessness  he  arrested 
De  Rohan  as  his  vassal  and  imprisoned  him 
with  his  bravos  in  our  castle,  where  they  were 
tried  for  the  crime.  But  it  could  never  be 
proved  that  De  Rohan  had  either  committed 
the  murder  personally  or  ordered  his  men  to 
do  it,  and  the  Duke  was  forced  to  set  him  free. 


The  Book  of  Hours  25 

The  family  never  forgave  the  Duke  of  Brit- 
tany for  that  indignity,  and  the  enmity  was 
inherited  by  their  children.  This  event  hap- 
pened long  before  the  time  of  which  I  am 
writing,  and  I  speak  of  it  now  because  my 
aunt  was  a  kinswoman  of  De  Rohan's  and  be- 
cause I  discovered  that  they  were  now  plot- 
ting together.  I  came  upon  her  one  day  at 
the  postern-gate  of  the  castle,  giving  a  letter 
to  a  brutal-looking  man  who  slunk  away  as 
I  came  near.  And  when  I  asked  her  what 
this  meant,  she  said  that  she  was  but  sending  a 
message  to  my  father,  who  was  with  the  army. 

"  But  why  did  you  choose  Tanneguy  le 
Rotrou  for  your  messenger  ?  "  I  asked,  for  it 
came  upon  me  suddenly  that  this  was  the  ruf- 
fian who  had  been  hired  by  De  Rohan  to  hew 
in  pieces  his  sister's  lover  even  while  her  arms 
were  stretched  through  her  prison  grating  to 
shield  him. 

"  Tanneguy  is  a  good  fighter,"  said  my 
aunt,  "  and  my  brother  may  have  use  for 
him." 

There  was  something  in  the  way  in  which 
the  words  were  spoken  that  chilled  me  to  the 
bone.  And  going  into  the  scriptorium  and 
finding  the  Lady  Anne  writing  a  letter  to 
Louis  d'Orleans,  when  she  was  searching  for 

o 


26  Renaissance  Chateaux 

wax  to  seal  it,  I  slipped  within  its  folds  a  scrap 
of  paper  on  which  I  had  written  the  words, 
"  Beware  of  Tanneguy  le  Rotrou  ! " 

Louis  d'Orleans,  receiving  this  warning, 
knew  not  to  whom  it  referred,  but  he  held  him- 
self continually  on  his  guard,  sleeping  in  shirt 
of  mail  ;  and  one  night  this  same  Tanneguy 
lifted  the  curtain  of  his  tent  and  would  have 
stabbed  him  to  the  heart,  but  the  knife  turned 
on  the  steel  links  and  Louis  caught  his  arm, 
struggled,  and  rolled  upon  him,  holding  him 
down  till  his  guards  came  and  took  him.  He 
knew  that  the  man  was  a  bravo,  a  hired  as- 
sassin, and  he  charged  my  father  before  his 
fellow-knights  with  having  sought  to  murder 
him.  The  dispute  was  so  hot  between  them 
that  there  was  a  dividance, — some  taking  the 
side  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  and  some  that  of 
Alain  d'Albret. 

When  the  French  army  appeared,  my 
father  held  his  men  back,  not  wishing  to  add 
to  the  glory  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans.  But,  as 
he  saw  from  his  post  on  a  hill  that  his  rival 
was  worsted,  he  came  hastily  upon  the  field. 
It  was  then  too  late,  and  he  could  but  cover 
the  retreat  of  Duke  Francis,  for  the  army  was 
routed  and  there  fell  that  day  six  thousand  of 
the  Bretons  and  their  allies.  Many  of  the 


The  Book  of  Hours  27 

leaders  were  taken  ;  and  by  the  command  of 
the  Regent  all,  with  the  exception  of  the 
Duke  of  Orleans  and  Dunois,  were  put  to 
death  in  cold  blood,  to  give  a  lesson  to  those 
who  should  hereafter  be  tempted  to  revolt. 

Louis  was  taken  to  Bourges,  and  there  shut 
in  a  loathly  dungeon  of  the  great  tower.  My 
Lady  Anne  grieved  exceedingly  when  she 
heard  this  news,  as  did  her  father,  the  Duke 
Francis,  who  was  still  further  afflicted  by  his  de- 
feat, so  that  he  died  of  grief  shortly  thereafter. 
And  in  this  dolorous  manner  ended  the  re- 
bellion of  the  League, — which  accomplished 
naught  but  great  suffering  and  sorrow  for  all 
that  had  a  hand  therein. 

The  Lady  Anne  shut  herself  up  in  the 
chateau  of  Nantes  and  I  with  her.  We  hung 
the  walls  with  black,  and  our  hearts  were  full 
of  the  bitterness  of  hate  as  well  as  of  grief, 
for  with  all  the  passion  of  the  vanquished  we 
hated  Charles,  King  of  France  ;  and  the  end 
was  not  yet. 

Ill 

In  which  it  appears  that  it  is  easier  for  a  porcupine  to 
shoot  forth  all  his  quills  than  to  gather  one  of  them  up 
again. 

Although  all  the  world  regarded  Brittany 
as  a  subjugated  province,  the  Lady  Anne  did 


28  Renaissance  Chateaux 

not  so  understand  matters,  for  she  reminded 
the  Breton  lords  of  their  oath  and  that  she 
was  now  lawful  Duchess  of  Brittany  ;  and 
secretly  she  began  to  treat  with  Austria  for 
supplies  and  for  troops  with  which  to  begin  a 
new  war.  The  answer  made  was  that  they 
would  be  forthcoming  if  Anne  would  agree 
to  marry  Maximilian,  and  so  bring  Brittany 
as  her  dowry  to  Austria. 

She  would  never  have  consented  to  these 
terms  if  she  had  not  believed  Louis  d'Orleans 
untrue  ;  and  this  came  about  through  the  well- 
meaning  blundering  of  the  Bishop  of  Nar- 
bonne.  Charles  had  recalled  George  Amboise 
from  his  bishopric,  that  is  to  say,  from  banish- 
ment, and  this  good  friend  and  true,  when  he 
found  that  he  had  the  King's  ear  once  more, 
laboured  night  and  day  for  the  release  of  the 
Duke  of  Orleans,  who  had  now  endured  for 
two  years  his  direful  imprisonment. 

"  I  would  gladly  set  him  at  liberty,"  said  the 
Kino-,  "  if  I  could  have  his  assurance  that  he 

o ' 

would  never  again  form  any  alliance  with  the 
Duchesse  de  Bretagne." 

"  Louis  will  cheerfully  make  that  pledge," 
said  Amboise,  and  the  King  gave  him  the 
agreement,  with  which  he  set  out  for  Bourges. 
What  was  his  despair  when  Louis  d'Orleans 


The  Book  of  Hours  29 

refused  to  set  his  signature  to  the  promise, 
saying  that  he  had  sworn  before  the  altar  to 
uphold  the  cause  of  Anne  de  Bretagne,  and 
though  he  could  be  of  no  service  to  her  she 
alone  could  absolve  him  from  his  oath. 

The  good  George  Amboise  went  away  very 
sorrowful,  but  those  know  him  not  who  fancy 
that  he  was  in  despair.  Thinking  that  this 
alliance  meant  only  political  confederation,  he 
caused  his  mule  to  be  saddled  and  rode  to 
Nantes.  There  in  the  simplicity  of  his  soul 
he  besought  the  Duchess  to  release  the  Duke 
of  Orleans  from  any  promise  which  there  might 
be  between  them,  and  thus  set  him  at  liberty. 

"  Come  you  of  your  own  notion,"  questioned 
the  Lady  Anne,  "  or  doth  Louis  d'Orleans  ask 
this  of  me  ?  " 

Amboise  was  loath  to  answer,  but  she  would 
have  no  quibbling,  and  he  acknowledged  that 
there  had  been  speech  between  them  concern- 
ing this  thing,  and  though  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
had  not  sent  him,  yet  he  would  be  grateful 
for  release  from  his  vows.  He  added  also  of 
his  own  prompting  that  her  marriage  with 
King  Charles  was  the  only  way  out  of  the 
difficulties  between  France  and  Brittany. 

Whereat  my  lady  cried  suddenly,  "The 
Kine  of  France  !  Louis  d'Orleans  would  have 


30  Renaissance  Chateaux 

me  wed  the  King  of  France  ?  Now  you  mind 
me,  there  was  some  such  talk  when  he  was 
here."  Then  she  laughed  bitterly  and  bade 
Amboise  tell  them  that  sent  him,  that  she 
neither  desired  any  fealty  from  the  Duke  of 
Orleans  nor  any  alliance  of  what  sort  soever 
with  the  King  of  France,  for  she  had  given 
her  troth  to  wed  with  Maximilian  of  Austria. 
In  so  saying  she  forestalled  the  events  of 
history  by  about  an  hour,  for  though  the  am- 
bassadors of  Maximilian  were  in  Nantes,  and 
had  laboured  to  bring  her  to  this  decision,  it 
was  not  until  George  Amboise  had  left  her 

o 

presence  that  she  sent  for  them  and  bade 
them  signify  her  consent  to  their  master. 

King  Charles  was  persuaded,  from  the  re- 
port which  Amboise  brought  him,  that  Louis, 
when  he  was  in  Brittany,  had  striven  to  effect 
a  marriage  between  the  Duchess  Anne  and 

O 

himself,  and  he  cried,    "  I  have  been  deceived 

by  my  sister.      I  go  now  to  crave  his  pardon." 

He  rode  to  Bourses  in  all  haste,  and  would 

£> 

not  suffer  the  Duke  to  kneel  before  him  but 
fell  upon  his  neck,  and  they  mingled  their 
tears  together.  But  when  Amboise  told  the 

o 

Duke  of  Orleans  at  what  a  price  his  liberty 
had  been  gained  he  was  greatly  distressed,  for 
he  saw  how  well  the  wording  of  his  wooing  Of 

o  o 


The  Book  of  Hours  31 

Anne  de  Bretagne  lent  itself  to  her  present 
understanding  of  the  matter.  There  was  no 
unravelling  of  the  coil,  for  he  could  not  ac- 
knowledge that  he  had  wooed  her  for  himself 
without  also  asserting  that  he  had  hoped  to 
become  King  of  France.  Moreover,  now  that 
she  was  affianced  to  Maximilian  it  was  too 
late  to  claim  her,  for  both  she  and  Brittany 
were  lost  to  France. 

Not  so  thought  King  Charles.  He  sent 
the  Duchess  word  that,  as  his  vassal,  she  had 
no  right  to  contract  a  marriage  with  a  foreign 
prince,  and  unless  she  speedily  renounced  that 
determination  he  would  make  war  upon  her 
and  coerce  her  into  obedience.  The  Duchess 
was  mightily  surprised  at  this,  for  she  had 
fancied  that  Charles  was  of  too  chivalrous  a 
nature  to  make  war  upon  a  woman  ;  but  he 
let  her  know  that  when  a  woman  becomes  a 
commander  of  hostile  troops  she  must  be 
treated  as  such,  and  he  led  the  campaign  in 
person.  This  was  in  March  of  the  year  1491. 
The  Lady  Anne  held  herself  at  Rennes  and 
itiade  my  father  commander  of  the  castle  of 
Nantes.  Again  I  must  blush  for  him,  for  when 
he  heard  that  Anne  was  promised  to  Maxi- 
milian he  sold  the  castle  to  King  Charles  for 
an  income  of  twenty-five  thousand  livres  and 


32  Renaissance  Chateaux 

opened  the  gates  to  the  King's  troops,  having 
first  killed  Gilles  Thomas,  who  had  the  guard 
of  the  Tour  de  Tresor,  and  having  taken 
therefrom  all  the  great  pearls,  sapphires,  and 
other  jewels  belonging  to  the  Duchess. 

The  King  was  glad  at  heart,  for  he  knew 
that  this  was  the  beginning  of  the  end,  for 
though  Rennes  was  so  strong  a  city  that  it 
could  not  be  taken,  yet  it  could  be  starved  into 
surrender.  Therefore  he  drew  his  forces 
around  the  doomed  city  so  closely  that  not  a 
mouse  could  escape  from  the  walls,  or  any 
supplies  pass  his  lines  ;  and  then  he  sat  down 
to  wait. 

The  Duchess  Anne,  when  she  saw  that  the 
wind  was  set  in  this  quarter,  was  for  a  sortie 
and  for  cutting  her  way  through  her  besiegers, 
but  her  councillors  begged  her  to  parley  and 
make  the  best  terms  she  could.  Her  spirit 
was  too  proud  to  beg  quarter,  and  she  cried  in 
the  council,  "Is  there  no  one  who  will  fight 
for  me  ?  " 

A  Breton  knight  of  prowess  made  answer  : 
"  That  will  I,  as  long  as  there  is  breath  in 
my  body." 

Then  the  Duchess  sent  a  letter  wherein  she 
wrote  that  to  prevent  the  wholesale  carnage 
and  death  of  so  many  persons  as  would  come 


The  Book  of  Hours  33 

from  a  general  battle,  she  challenged  Charles 
to  single  combat  and  was  willing  to  stake  all 
upon  its  event.  If  her  champion  were  van- 
quished she  would  surrender  Brittany,  but  if 
his  knight  were  killed  he  must  retire  from  her 
province  with  his  army.  When  the  lords 
heard  this  vainglorious  challenge  they  laughed 
long  and  loudly.  It  was  so  like  a  woman  to 
set  herself  upon  an  equality  with  the  King  of 
France  when  he  had  so  manifestly  the  advant- 
age and  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait  until 
the  time  when  the  city  must  inevitably  cry 
his  mercy  !  The  King  laughed  not  with  the 
rest,  but  answered  soberly  that  the  challenge 
and  its  conditions  were  accepted  if  there  was 
any  among  his  knights  who  would  do  battle 
for  him.  There  was  no  lack  of  volunteers — 
indeed  so  many  and  so  eager  were  they  that, 
not  to  offend  any,  the  King  chose  from  among 
them  by  lot,  and  this  was  not  to  his  advantage, 
for  the  lot  fell  on  a  knight  by  no  means  so 
practised  as  Louis  de  la  Tremouille,  or  Uunois, 
or  Louis  d'Orleans. 

The  lists  were  drawn  up  in  the  trenches 
under  the  walls  of  the  city,  which  were  hung 
with  tapestries  and  banners  and  vestments  of 
velvet  and  broidery  brought  from  the  sacristy 
of  the  cathedral  and  from  the  treasures  of  the 


34  Renaissance  Chateaux 

wealthiest  burghers.  The  walls  were  covered 
with  seats  and  these  were  apportioned  to  the 
chief  of  the  nobility,  who  with  their  ladies 
tricked  out  in  their  bravest  finery  sat  as  at  a 
tournament  to  see  the  sport.  The  Duchess 
had  a  scaffolding  built  out  in  the  form  of  a 
balcony  in  the  centre,  where  she  sat  with  her 
ladies  under  a  canopy  fringed  with  gold  ;  and 
she  held  in  her  hands  a  wreath  of  laurel  with 
which  she  counted  on  crowning  her  champion. 
Opposite  this  logis  King  Charles  caused  to  be 
erected  a  pavilion,  a  silken  tent,  in  which  on  a 
raised  dais  he  sat  with  his  lords, — Louis  d'Or- 
leans  in  full  armour  upon  his  right  hand,  and 
George  Amboise  in  his  purple  robes  upon  the 
left,  while  Louis  de  la  Tremouille  upon  his  white 
war-horse  marshalled  the  army,  and  heralds 
with  their  tabards  stood  at  the  foot  of  the 
dais.  It  was  as  glorious  a  tourney  as  was  ever 
seen  in  Brittany,  but  the  French  lords  liked 
not  the  conditions,  and  Louis  d'Orleans 
blushed  for  shame  when  he  caught  the  eye  of 
the  Duchess  Anne.  Her  cheek  answered  his 
flame  signals  when  she  saw  him  in  the  ranks 
of  her  enemies,  but  she  held  her  head  a  trifle 
higher  and  bade  one  of  her  pages  shake  out 
the  banner  of  Austria,  which  the  wind  had 
twisted  with  that  of  Brittany.  This  insult 


The  Book  of  Hours  35 

awoke  King  Charles,  for  he  had  fallen  into  a 
muse  while  gazing  on  her  beauty,  and  he 
looked  his  champion  keenly  over  as  he  stood 
in  salute,  bidding  him  change  his  lance  for 
one  of  stouter  timber  and  to  do  his  best  and 
doughtiest.  We  could  see  at  the  same  time 
that  the  Duchess  fastened  her  favour  to  the 
helmet  of  her  champion. 

The  two  drew  off,  and  then  the  onset 
was  sounded  and  they  rushed  to  the  fray 
with  such  force  that  both  lances  were  shiv- 
ered and  their  horses  thrown  back  upon 
their  haunches  —  neither  having  the  advant- 
age. And  this  play  was  repeated  three 
times,  until  the  champions  were  both  wounded 
and  so  sore  spent  that  they  could  no  longer 
sit  in  saddle,  and  yet  the  victory  was  unde- 
cided, so  that  the  judges  could  not  award  it  to 
either  party.  Then  the  Duchess  gave  two 
crowns,  one  to  each  champion,  and  invited  the 
King  of  France  and  his  nobles  to  ride  into  the 
city  to  the  castle  and  partake  of  a  banquet  of 
cakes  and  wine  which  had  been  provided,  for 
the  Duchess  had  said  in  ordering  it  that 
whether  victorious  or  vanquished  she  would 
still  be  hostess,  since  the  King  had  come  to 
visit  her  city.  And  here,  while  all  were  of 
good  accord,  the  King  declared  that  there 


36  Renaissance  Chateaux 

should  be  no  more  fighting  of  any  kind,  but 
that  since  the  matter  in  dispute  was  still  un- 
decided, he  would  visit  the  Duchess  upon  an- 
other occasion,  and  treat  with  her  concerning 
conditions  of  peace.  And  so  he  did,  riding 
into  the  city  but  slenderly  attended,  and  leav- 
ing his  bodyguard  in  the  court  of  the  castle, 
and  the  Duchess  admitted  him  to  a  private 
audience,  so  that  none  knew  what  were  the 
arguments  he  used ;  and  not  Brittany  and 
France  alone  but  all  the  world  were  astonished 
at  the  result  of  that  colloquy,  for  Maximilian 
of  Austria  received  speedy  tidings  that  he 
could  hope  for  no  fulfilment  of  the  engage- 
ment which  had  been  entered  into  by  the 
Duchess,  for  she  had  long  since  sworn  that  if 
the  King  of  France  asked  her  she  would  wed 
with  him. 

This  marriage  was  celebrated  on  the  6th 
of  December,  1491,  Dunois  lending  his  cha- 
teau of  Langeais  for  the  festival,  which  was  a 
glorious  one,  all  of  the  chief  lords  of  France 
and  Brittany  attending,  and  great  feasting  and 
entertainment  being  held  at  the  King's  cost  in 
the  neighbouring  city  of  Tours.  The  Duchess 
came  to  the  castle  attended  by  a  great  train  of 
Breton  gentlemen  and  ladies,  and  she  brought 
rich  store  of  clothing  and  of  household  plen- 


The  Book  of  Hours  37 

ishing.  Most  magnificent  of  all  her  robes  was 
her  wedding-dress  of  cloth  of  gold  of  more 
than  ten  thousand  livres  in  value,  and  its  train 
and  her  mantle  were  bordered  and  lined  with 
an  hundred  and  sixty  skins  of  ermine.  But 
the  good  knight  Dunois  did  not  see  the  wed- 
ding, though  he  had  it  much  at  heart.  He 
who  had  endured  so  many  fierce  battles  fell 
from  his  horse  in  an  apoplexy  as  he  was  hast- 
ing from  Tours  to  attend  the  marriage. 
Neither  Anne  nor  Charles  knew  of  this  until 
long  afterward,  for  it  was  hidden  from  them 
lest  it  might  sadden  their  joy.  From  Lan- 
geais  the  King  led  the  Queen  to  Amboise, 
where  under  her  direction  and  that  of  Pierot 
Nepveu,  a  master-mason  of  Touraine,  was  the 
chateau  rebuilt  into  the  gracious  semblance 
which  it  now  showeth,  and  where  they  built 
also  the  chapel  to  Saints  Hubert,  Christopher, 
and  Anthony,  which  is  as  a  vision  fallen  from 
heaven. 

But  so  sudden  and  strange  was  this  change 
of  two  enemies  into  two  lovers  that  many 
could  not  credit  it ;  and  the  Pope  refused  his 
blessing,  believing  that  she  had  been  carried 
away  by  force,  until  she  wrote  him  that  she 
had  married  the  King  of  pure  love,  and  had 
come  to  Langeais  with  that  intent,  of  her  own 


38  Renaissance  Chateaux 

free  will  and  none  compelling.  But  many  be- 
sides the  Pope  were  astonished,  and  Louis 
d'Orleans,  after  that  he  held  the  Queen's 
crown  above  her  head  at  the  coronation  (for 
it  was  too  heavy  for  her  to  wear),  rode  home 
to  his  castle  of  Blois,  having  much  whereon 
to  marvel. 


IV 


How  the  fleur-de-lys  of  France  took  no  harm  from 
the  flying  quills,  and  how  it  blossomed  and  was  trans- 
planted. 

And  what  is  there  more  for  me  to  tell  ?  For 
all  the  world  knoweth  how  lovingly  these  two 
dwelt  together,  so  that  while  King  Charles 
lived  no  one  in  France,  and  Louis  d'Orleans 
least  of  all,  could  have  suspected  that  Anne 
de  Bretagne  wedded  the  King  out  of  a  pique 
of  wounded  pride.  Nor  was  her  love  for  the 
King  feigned,  though  it  was  rather  that  of 
a  mother  than  of  a  wife,  for  Charles  had  a 
sweet  and  childlike  nature,  and  leaned  upon 
her  judgment.  The  Queen  knew  this,  and 
albeit  she  was  so  young  she  led  him  wisely, 
pushing  him  always  into  good  enterprises,  and 
having  the  wit  to  efface  herself,  so  that  it 
seemed  that  he  acted  of  his  own  prompting. 


Renaissance  Chateaux 


free  will  and  none  compelling.      But  many  be- 
sides  the    Pope   were   astonished,   and    ^ouis 
d'Orleans,    after    that     he    held    the    Queen's 
rown   above  her  head  at  the  coronation  (for 
:i>  too  heavy  for  her  to  wear),  rode  home 
to  hi-,  castle  of  Blois,   having-  much  whereon 
to  marvel. 


IV 


How  the   fleur-de-lys   ot    Fra 
e   flying  quills,  and  how  it   i.. 


from 
trans- 


li   the  world  knoweth  hov*  iMvm^ix-  these  two 

v,-lt    together,    so    thai    while    KiniL;    Charles 

iveii  IK)  one  in   Frun<  .".  and      ouis   d'Orleans 

east  oi   all,   could   have   s!-r>j..>'.  !'•<!   that   .\nne 

e  Bretainie  wedded    t]ie    Ki:;-;     .'i'.t  f!   a  pique 

it   \voundedpride.      Nor  was   h«  r   i<>\      ior  the 

\iH:c    feigned,   though    it     \va-  'hat   of 

'n^tiier  than   of  a  wife.,  .id    a 

:    and    childlike    natunv  .jmn 

,  .d-m-u-.nt.      The    Ou<  •  M    and 

-ne    was   so   vounv;    •  wisely. 

i:  ;n  alwax'i  ml'  '-<'•  •  --.  and 


The  Book  of  Hours  39 

He  laboured  in  all  things  for  her  pleasure, 
even  studying  Latin,  which  was  a  great  hard- 
ship to  him  ;  nor  would  he  ever  touch  the  great 
revenues  of  Brittany,  but  she  administered 
them  as  she  saw  fit.  And  at  Amboise  these 
two  sovereigns  were  such  patrons  of  the  arts 
that  illuminators  waxed  fat  and  image-carvers 
haughty  and  purse-proud. 

And  now  began  the  Italian  wars,  and  Charles 
led  the  French  army  to  Naples,  for  on  the 
death  of  good  King  Rene  that  part  of  his 
domain  had  lapsed  to  France.  When  Spain 
disputed  his  rights  Charles  would  have  let 
them  go,  but  the  Queen  would  have  him  main- 
tain them.  So  to  pleasure  her  he  very  shortly 
settled  that  matter,  for  the  campaign  was  not 
so  much  a  series  of  battles  as  a  triumphant 
parade.  Louis  d'Orleans  also  acquitted  himself 
with  glory  at  the  King's  side,  and  many  a 
young  knight  like  Bayard  won  his  spurs. 
After  the  conquest,  the  nobles  brought  to 
France  Italian  fashions  and  artists,  for  the 
King  himself  set  the  example  and  sent  a 
goodly  number  of  craftsmen  to  work  upon  the 
chateau  of  Amboise,  and  with  them  paintings 
and  other  curios,  with  such  a  multitude  of 
books  of  rare  illuminations  as  was  never  before 
seen  in  one  palace  in  France.  (See  Note  I.) 


40  Renaissance  Chateaux 

But  ever  and  always  the  French  artists  bettered 
the  work  of  the  Italians,  and  it  was  the  brothers 
Just  of  Tours  who  sculptured  the  tombs  of  the 
little  princes  when  the  sorrow  of  their  early 
taking  fell  upon  the  King  and  Queen. 

A  still  heavier  grief  was  to  come  to  Anne. 
I  know  not  whether  it  was  that  a  low  fever 
which  Charles  contracted  in  Italy  sapped  his 
strength,  or  whether  he  grieved  overmuch 
for  the  loss  of  his  pretty  babes,  but  at  this 
time  a  lassitude  and  a  melancholy  fell  upon 
the  King,  which  the  leeches  were  powerless 
to  cure,  and  for  which  I  have  another  explana- 
tion. For  his  sister,  the  Dame  de  Beaujeu, 
could  never  forgive  Louis  d'Orleans  or  suffer 
his  presence  at  Court,  and  she  strove  to 
poison  her  brother's  mind  as  of  old,  saying 
that  without  doubt  Louis  loved  the  Queen  ; 
else  why  was  it  that  he  would  not  be  recon- 
ciled to  their  sister,  the  Princess  Jeanne,  but 
had  repudiated  his  marriage  with  her. 

One  day  Charles  went  to  his  sister's  room, 
and,  not  finding  her,  waited  her  coming.  It 
chanced  that  I  was  sitting  at  the  time  in  the 
embrasure  of  the  window,  but  he  saw  me  not, 
and  he  threw  himself  on  his  knees  at  a  prie- 
dieu  near  me.  In  that  attitude  his  ear  (and 
mine  also)  was  close  to  an  oreille  de  Denys,  a 


The  Book  of  Hours  41 

sort  of  hearing-tube,  hidden  in  the  wall,  which 
his  father,  Louis  XL,  had  caused  to  be  made, 
whereby  he  might  listen  to  the  conversation 
of  persons  in  a  little  salon  at  some  distance, 
who  believing  themselves  to  be  alone  might 
divulge  to  one  another  their  secrets.  Thus  it 
happened  that  we  both  heard  the  Queen  speak- 
ing with  heat  and  indignation. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  Louis  d'Orleans,"  she  said, 
"why  I  have  desired  to  speak  with  you  alone  ; 
but  come  no  nearer,  nor  thank  me  for  the  in- 
terview, for  it  is  no  favour.  I  have  summoned 
you  to  bid  you  retire  to  your  chateau  of  Blois, 
for  I  cannot  abear  your  presence  at  Court." 

Charles  had  listened,  much  mystified  as  to 
whence  the  sound  came.  At  first  he  thought 
that  he  must  have  fallen  asleep  and  that  it  was 
a  dream.  As  he  knelt  motionless,  wondering 
what  it  could  mean,  Louis  d'Orleans  pleaded 
with  the  Queen,  begging  to  know  his  fault, 
and  why  he  was  dismissed  her  presence. 

"  It  was  not  always  thus,  most  gracious 
lady.  At  Nantes  you  were  not  offended  that 
I  lingered  near.  I  will  obey  your  bidding  and 
go,  if  you  will  tell  me  that  you  loved  me  then. 
By  the  rood  !  you  love  me  still,  and  it  is  for 
that  reason  you  cannot  bear  to  see  me  ! " 

Then  Charles  shouted   "  Ldclie!"  but  none 


42  Renaissance  Chateaux 

heard  him,  for  with  the  same  impulse  his  wife 
uttered  the  very  word  : 

"Ldche!"  she  cried;  "I  know  now  that  I 
never  loved  you.  I  cannot  bear  to  look  upon 
you,  because  you  mind  me  that  once  in  my 
girlish  folly  I  fancied  I  loved  you  ;  but  since 
I  have  known  how  much  better  a  man  is  my 
Charles,  I  have  thanked  God  daily  that  in  His 
providence  He  snatched  me  from  you  and  gave 
me  to  him.  Go,  go  to  Blois,  and  let  me  never 
look  upon  you  again." 

A  great  trembling  of  thanksgiving  fell  upon 
the  King.  He  rose  from  his  knees  and  faced 
his  sister,  who  had  entered  the  room  and  was 
leaning  over  him. 

o 

"  You  have  found  our  father's  contrivance 
for  learning  secrets,"  she  said.  "  I  trust  you 
are  pleased  with  what  you  have  overheard." 

"  Most  pleased,  my  sister.  Kneel  with  me, 
and  listen." 

And  with  different  emotions, their  heads  close 
together,  they  heard  the  Duke  of  Orleans  say  : 

"  I  have  deserved  your  anger  and  I  go.  I 
was  mad  to  fancy  that  you  loved  me,  and  you 
have  recalled  me  to  my  senses.  I  shall  never 
transgress  airain." 

*:"">  O 

"She  has  dismissed  him!"  exclaimed  the 
Princess  in  wonder. 


The  Book  of  Hours  43 

Charles  nodded  gaily. 

"  But  he  loved  her  !  " 

"Who  could  help  it?"  the  King  made 
answer.  And  from  that  time  his  spirits  and 
his  health  mended.  He  took  interest  again 
in  the  games  and  athletic  sports  of  which  he 
had  been  fond  as  a  boy,  and  the  Queen  played 
with  him  instead  of  tiring  him  with  the  Latin 
lessons,  and  they  were  like  two  happy  children. 
And  because  she  was  always  more  Breton  at 
heart  than  French  he  called  her  in  sport  ma 
Bretonne,  and  sometimes  ma  Bret,  and  the 
Queen,  who  had  so  much  of  dignity  with  others, 
took  his  merriment  in  good  part  and  loved 
that  name  better  than  any  other. 

In  the  very  midst  of  their  joy,  one  morning 
as  the  King  was  running  hastily  through  a 
low  door,  to  play  at  paume  in  the  garden,  he 
struck  his  head  against  the  lintel,  and  fell 
senseless.  There  was  clamour  and  panic  and 
the  Queen  came  breathless  and  took  him  in 
her  arms  like  a  little  child,  and  would  have 
carried  him  to  the  castle,  but  his  agony  was  too 
great.  So  she  sat  upon  the  ground  and  held 
his  head  in  her  lap  all  clay,  for  he  was  all  that 
day  a-dying.  George  Amboise  knelt  beside 
them  and  read  from  his  breviary,  but  Charles 
moaned  that  Latin  made  his  head  ache, — Bret 


44  Renaissance  Chateaux 

had  promised  there  should  be  no  more  Latin. 
When  the  good  Bishop  asked  him  if  he  were 
ready  to  depart  he  made  out  only,  his  mind 
being  confused,  that  he  was  to  go  some  whither, 
—as  it  were  to  the  wars  in  Italy, — when  he 
would  far  liefer  stay,  and  he  answered . 

"  Yea,  if  Bret  wishes." 

And  when  she  cried,  "  Nay,  stay  with  me, 
my  husband  !"  he  smiled  and  said  : 

"  I  stay — with  Bret." 

Then  Amboise  told  him,  as  one  would  a 
little  child,  of  the  heavenly  city,  walled  about 
with  great  gem-stones  of  sapphire,  of  emerald, 
of  chrysolite,  and  amethyst,  and  he  gathered 
all  his  strength  and  shouted  : 

"  I  will  take  it !  A  r escalade!  I  will  take 
it  for  Bret ! " 

At  sunset  his  mind  cleared,  and,  murmuring 
the  name  of  Jesus,  he  passed  to  peace.  It  is 
written  that  that  Kingdom  suffereth  violence, 
and  the  violent  take  it  by  storm,  but  such 
gentle  souls  as  his  will  have  no  need  of  scaling- 
ladders,  for  at  their  coming  the  drawbridge 
will  fall,  and  the  portcullis  of  pearl  roll  upward 
of  its  own  accord,  for  "  of  such  is  the  Kingdom 
of  Heaven." 


ANNE  DE  BRETAQNE. 

FROM   HER  "  LIVRE  D'HEURES." 


The  Book  of  Hours  45 

v 

Whereby  it  is  shown  that  though  a  porcupine  lie 
dormant  through  the  winter,  that  be  no  sure  token  that 
the  beastie  is  dead. 

After  what  I  have  written  it  will  seem  as 
strange  to  you  who  read  as  to  those  who  saw 
it  come  to  pass,  that  the  Queen  could  ever 
again  take  pleasure  in  life.  Her  children  hav- 
ing died  in  infancy,  Louis  d'Orleans  now  came 
to  the  throne,  and  Anne  retired  to  her  duchy 
of  Brittany.  But  when  the  late  King's  will 
was  read  it  was  known  that  he  begged  these 
two  to  marry,  giving  as  a  reason  that  the  fair 
domain  of  Brittany  might  not  be  lost  to  France. 
Now  this  was  a  greater  marvel  to  all  than  that 

o 

my  Lady  Anne  had  married  Charles,  for  it 
was  known  that  she  had  ever  done  him  honour 
as  a  virtuous  wife,  conducting  herself  with 
especial  rigour  toward  the  Duke  of  Orleans. 
It  was  certain,  too,  that  Charles  had  loved  his 
sister  Jeanne,  and  had  be-en  pained  by  her  un- 
happiness  ;  but  he  saw  clearly  that  she  and 
Louis  never  had  been  nor  could  be  truly  wed- 
ded, and  perchance  there  was  given  him  also, 
by  some  fine  insight,  foreknowledge  of  what 
would  be  when  he  was  gone,  and  thus  he  left 
them  his  blessing. 

O 

So  the   King  and  Queen  were  married  in 


46  Renaissance  Chateaux 

the  little  chapel  of  the  old  chateau  of  Nantes 
by  George  Amboise,  and  they  made  their 
Court  at  Blois  in  the  new  chateau  which  Fra 
Giocondo  built.  And  my  own  story  is  so 
linked  with  theirs  that  I  can  scarce  disentangle 
it ;  for  the  ringers  rang  our  wedding  chimes 
upon  the  same  day,  a  marvel  which  came  to 
pass  in  this  wise  : 

His  Holiness  the  Pope  had  long  been  be- 
sought by  George  Amboise  to  pronounce  null 
and  void  from  the  beginning  the  forced  mar- 
riage ceremony  of  the  Princess  Jeanne  and 
Louis  d'Orleans.  But  this  the  Pope  would 
never  consent  to  do  until  Louis  became  King, 
when,  wishing  to  pleasure  him  (or  perchance 
being  better  instructed  in  the  premises),  he 
sent  a  full  divorce  by  his  son,  Cesar  Borgia, 
and  accompanied  the  dispensation  by  the  gift 
of  the  Cardinal's  hat  for  George  Amboise. 
While  I  watched  the  splendid  entry  of  the 
papal  envoy  I  had  no  thought  that  so  glorious 
a  prince  could  take  pleasure  in  a  simple  maid 
like  myself.  I  had  also  that  on  my  mind 
which  lessened  my  joy  in  the  pageant,  for 
though  my  father  had  lived  in  safety  hitherto 
under  the  protection  of  King  Charles,  to  whom 
he  sold  the  castle  of  Nantes,  he  feared  with 
reason  that  the  Queen  might  now  take  her 


The  Book  of  Hours  47 

revenge  for  that  perfidy,  and  that  the  new 
King  might  remember  the  eve  of  the  battle 
of  St.  Aubin.  Therefore  he  had  asked  me  to 
intercede  for  him  with  their  Majesties,  and 
I  could  not  refuse,  for  though  he  deserved 
death  he  was  still  my  father. 

When  I  knelt  the  King  raised  me,  saying, 
"  It  is  not  for  the  King  of  France  to  revenge 
the  wrongs  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans."  And 
the  Queen  smiled  and  said,  "  You  asked  me 
but  now,  Louis,  which  of  my  maids  of  honour 
I  loved  best,  and  would  make  a  happy  bride 
upon  our  own  wedding-day." 

While  I  wondered  what  this  might  mean 
the  King  laid  my  hand  in  that  of  Cesar  Borgia. 
And  though  my  happiness  was  brief,  and  my 
dear  lord  was  called  away  by  the  wars  to  Italy 
and  could  not  take  me  with  him,  yet  am  I  not 
utterly  disconsolate,  for  I  am  sure  of  the  love 
of  my  Queen,  as  I  live  over  again  in  phantasy 
our  perturbed  but  happy  girlhood  in  the  old 
castle  of  Nantes. 


CHAPTER  II 
THE    MADONNA  OF  THE  ERMINE  MANTLE 

AMONG  all  the  affluents  of  the  royal  Loire 
no  sister  stream  leads  you  in  more  fas- 
cinating ways  than  the  little  river  Indre. 
Trace  it  from  sunny  Touraine  back  toward 
its  source.  You  will  make  its  acquaintance 
first  as  it  lingers  to  reflect  in  its  lily-padded 
mirror  the  white  beauty  of  lovely  Azay.  Far- 
ther on  it  receives  the  drippings  of  the  moats 
of  cruel  Loches  and  laps  the  walls  of  old 
Montbazon.  Persevere  till  you  reach  grim 
Chateauroux,  which  stands  like  an  armed 
warder  guarding  the  gateway  to  the  laughing 
province  of  Berri,  and  you  will  find  yourself 
in  an  enchanted  region  untrodden  by  the  great 
army  of  tourists.  And  yet  it  has  been  most 
lovingly  described  by  George  Sand,  who  chose 
to  make  her  home  here,  and  drew  from  the 
old  feudal  donjons  and  from  the  ancient  le- 
gends of  the  province  inspiration  for  her  best 
novels.  Though  she  wrote  of  them  through 

48 


The  Madonna  of  the  Ermine  Mantle    49 

many  years  with  her  "  serene  volubility,"  so 
thickly  do  they  cluster  along  the  curving 
Indre  that  the  field  is  still  unexhausted. 

One  of  the  most  bewitching  of  these  hid- 
den haunts  of  almost  forgotten  nobles  is  the 
little  chateau  of  La  Motte  Feuilly.  The  trav- 
eller might  thread  the  valley  by  the  railway 
an  hundred  times  and  never  suspect  that  in 
the  heart  of  a  wood  to  the  south  (which  he 
could  fancy  to  be  the  original  Bois  Dormant) 
there  has  slumbered  since  the  Middle  Ages  a 
perfect  example  of  the  minor  castle,  or  fortified 
manoir. 

Driving  through  Berri  one  memorable  sum- 
mer we  came  suddenly  upon  its  two  great 
towers  of  gray  stone.  The  first  was  round, 
with  a  conical  roof,  below  which,  prepared  for 
sudden  attack,  was  the  wooden  hoarding,  or 
shelter  for  the  defenders,  which  was  built  out 
from  the  battlements  in  time  of  siege.  The 
great  beams  were  rotting  quietly  in  their 
sockets,  just  where  they  were  hastily  fitted 
centuries  ago  when  the  rumour  of  some  an- 
ticipated foray  alarmed  the  owner  of  the  castle. 
Was  the  danger  so  imminent  and  continual 

o 

that  they  were  never  taken  down  to  be  laid 
aside  with  other  temporary  means  of  fortifica- 
tion ?  Between  this  belligerent  watch-tower 


50  Renaissance  Chateaux 

and  its  neighbour  there  formerly  existed  a 
connecting  courtine  which  hid  the  chateau 
from  view,  but  the  stone  wall  has  crumbled  to 
dust,  and  the  only  barrier  is  the  wide  fosse 
filled  with  clear  running  water,  an  arm  of  our 
castle-loving  Indre.  Across  this  moat  the 
square  entrance-tower  had  dropped  its  draw- 
bridge, which  seems  to  have  taken  root  and 
so  become  permanent,  and  over  the  arch- 
way, within  whose  grooves  the  portcullis  once 
rattled,  we  saw  the  fleur-de-lis  of  the  Bour- 
bons, with  a  greyhound  and  lion  as  sup- 
porters, for  this  was  the  dower-chateau  of 
Charlotte  d'Albret,  the  unhappy  wife  of  Cesar 
Borgia. 

Having  passed  through  the  entrance-tower 
we  faced  the  chateau  proper,  a  long  two-storey 
building  with  lateral  wings,  the  one  on  the 
right  having  an  open  gallery  whose  twisted 
columns  supported  an  exquisite  little  chapel. 
The  chateau  with  all  its  loveliness  was  still  a 
melancholy  place,  for  its  owner  resides  here 
but  infrequently,  and  the  vacant  rooms  were 
oppressive  in  their  silence.  The  huge  trees 
of  the  park  gave  too  much  shade,  and  the  yew 
which  Henry  IV.  planted  leaned  like  an  aged 
man  upon  its  props  and  seemed  to  meditate 
on  bygone  days.  The  lazy  carp  did  not  dart 


The  Madonna  of  the  Ermine  Mantle    51 

away  when  our  shadows  fell  upon  the  water, 
the  deer  were  as  unafraid  as  cows,  and  the 
climbing  roses  had  latticed  some  of  the  cham- 
ber windows,  so  twisting  themselves  about  the 
hinges  of  the  shutters  that  they  could  not  be 
opened. 

Fascinating  in  itself,  the  spot  is  doubly  so 
from  the  romantic  interest  which  lingers  like 
a  perfume  in  the  lonely  rooms.  A  mystery 
hinting  at  tragedy  haunts  the  darkened  corri- 
dors and  is  only  half  explained  by  credible 
history.  Charlotte  d'Albret  dazzled  no  one 
by  her  intellectual  or  by  her  physical  charms, 
though  she  was  good  and  gentle.  She  was  a 
princess  indeed,  but  of  a  petty  mountain  king- 
dom neither  greater  nor  richer  than  a  French 
countship.  What  attraction  was  there  in  the 
simple  provincial  girl  to  win  such  a  man  as 
Cesar  Borgia,  that  embodiment  of  manly 
beauty,  of  fastidious  taste,  of  superb  arrogance, 
of  unlimited  ambition,  and  of  every  known 
crime  ? 

I  recalled  the  occasion  of  his  coming  to 
France, — that  it  was  to  bring  from  his  father, 
Pope  Alexander  VI.,  the  bull  of  divorce  so 
ardently  desired  by  Louis  XII.,  which  released 
that  monarch  from  the  marriage  into  which  he 
had  been  forced  at  fifteen  by  Louis  XL,  and 


52  Renaissance  Chateaux 

left  him  free  to  wed  Anne  de  Bretagne,  whom 
he  had  long  loved.  Charlotte  d'Albret  was 
among  the  Queen's  maids  of  honour  on  that 
spring  morning  of  1499  when  Cesar  made  his 
famous  entry  into  Chinon,  captivating  all  be- 
holders by  his  magnificent  prodigality.  Sev- 
enty lackeys  in  gorgeous  liveries  and  thirty 
mounted  gentlemen  elegantly  bedight  pre- 
ceded him,  escorting  the  two  palfreys  bearing 
the  coffers  which  contained  the  King's  divorce 
and  a  cardinal's  hat  for  George  Amboise.  Last 

o 

of  all  came  Borgia,  radiant  in  brocade  of  mixed 
crimson  satin  and  cloth  of  gold.  "  As  for  me," 
says  the  admiring  Brantome,  "  I  cannot  un- 
derstand how  they  fashion  that  kind  of  stuff. 
It  was  bordered  with  great  pearls,  and  around 
his  toque  in  double  rank  were  great  rubies, 
and  he  was  covered  with  jewels  to  his  boots, 
which  were  laced  with  gold  cord  and  embroi- 
dered with  pearls."  Cesar  had  caused  his 
horse  to  be  shod  with  silver  shoes  slightly 
fastened  with  golden  nails,  so  that  from  time 
to  time  one  was  dropped  for  the  delighted 
populace  to  scramble  over. 

Louis  was  glad  of  heart  that  day,  and  he 
wished  not  only  to  express  his  gratitude  for 
the  boon  which  the  Pope  had  conferred  upon 
him,  but  also  to  attach  Cesar  Borgia  to  the 


The  Madonna  of  the  Ermine  Mantle    53 

French  interests  in  the  coming  Italian  cam- 
paign. The  duchy  of  Valentino  and  a  pen- 
sion of  twenty  thousand  livres  were  the  golden 
links  in  the  chain  which  the  King  trusted 
would  bind  the  Borgias,  while  Charlotte 
d'Albret,  Louis's  cousin,  became  the  clasp  to 
make  the  bargain  seem  one  of  affection  as 
well  as  of  policy.  But  Cesar  was  never  true  to 
any  man,  or  woman,  or  cause.  He  left  his 
bride  in  France  and  returned  to  Italy  at  the 
head  of  eight  thousand  French  soldiers,  whom 
he  used  to  secure  his  own  ambition,  the  king- 
ship of  Romagna.  By  treachery  or  by  cruelty 
he  took  Forli,  Cesere.  and  Pesaro  from  his 
brother-in-law  Sforza,  Rimini  from  Malatesta, 
and  Faenza  from  Manfredi.  He  obtained 
soldiers  from  the  Duke  of  Urbino  with  the 
pretended  intention  of  attacking  Camerino, 
and  then  seized  Urbino  itself.  He  made  him- 
self master  of  city  after  city  by  such  disgrace- 
ful means  that  Louis  was  ashamed  of  his  ally. 
He  poisoned,  assassinated,  tricked,  lied,  broke 
sworn  faith,  and  murdered  his  own  officers 
who  had  aided  him,  in  order  to  possess  their 
seigneuries.  At  last  he  was  lord  of  Romagna, 
but  it  was  not  enough  for  him.  Could  he 
marry  the  heiress  to  the  Neapolitan  crown, 
Naples  might  also  be  his.  Then  for  the  first 


54  Renaissance  Chateaux 

time  in  years  he  remembered  that  he  was  a 
married  man.  In  the  present  crisis  it  was 
most  necessary  that  the  uncongenial  tie  which 
bound  him  should  be  broken.  Divorce  would 
not  serve  his  turn,  for  the  King  of  France 
must  not  suspect  that  he  was  plotting  a  Span- 
ish marriage.  He  must  be  released  in  a  more 
absolute  and  natural  manner — Charlotte  d'Al- 
bret  must  die.  While  Cesar  was  scheming 
his  father  closed  his  infamous  career,  poisoned, 
as  it  was  said,  by  wine  which  his  son  had  pre- 
pared for  an  enemy,  and  Cesar  himself  fell  so 
deadly  ill  that  he  could  not  control  that  su- 
preme emergency,  and  his  worst  foe,  Julian 
de  Rovere,  became  Pope.  Then,  when  Cesar 
fled  to  Naples  to  Gonsalvo  de  Cordova,  he,  in 
turn,  met  with  treachery,  and  was  sent  a  pris- 
oner to  Spain.  Confined  for  two  years  in 
the  castle  of  Medina  del  Campo  he  escaped 
finally  to  Navarre,  seeking  an  asylum  with  his 
brother-in-law,  Jean  d'Albret,  and  —  strange 
fate ! — died  at  last  honourably  fighting  at  his 
side  against  Spain. 

And  all  the  time,  in  this  very  chateau  of  La 
Motte  Feuilly,  Charlotte  d'Albret  had  "  lived 
in  phantasy,"  believing  in  his  good  faith,  and 
hoping  for  his  return.  She  kept  a  brave  front 
and  a  queenly  state,  and  she  filled  the  chateau 


The  Madonna  of  the  Ermine  Mantle    55 

with  costly  furnishings,  having  a  special  fond- 
ness for  magnificent  tapestries.1 

Remembering  that  I  had  read  such  a  state- 
ment in  some  old  chronicle  I  woke  from  a 
mental  review  of  the  meagre  details  which 
history  gives  us  of  the  life  of  the  wife  of  Cesar 
Borgia,  and  asked  the  guide  who  had  been 
showing  us  the  stately  and  somewhat  stuffy 
chambers  whether  any  of  Charlotte  d'Albret's 
tapestries  were  still  preserved  in  the  chateau. 
She  had  been  garrulous  enough,  this  pretty 
guardian  of  the  keys,  had  told  us  that  her 
name  was  Maricinthe  (contracted  from  Marie 
Hyacinthe),  and  that  it  was  a  delight  to  talk 
with  intelligent  persons  like  ourselves,  for  the 
life  of  a  caretaker  in  an  old  manoir  like  this 
was  triste  beyond  conception.  In  showing  us 
the  interior  of  the  old  donjon-keep  she  had 
related  the  tradition  concerning  the  last  use  of 
the  stocks  preserved  in  its  upper  storey, — how 
a  too  talkative  page  had  sat  in  them  for  three 
days  and  nights  for  having  blabbed  his  mas- 
ter's secrets.  Hitherto  Maricinthe  had  shown 
no  fear  of  this  threatening  precedent,  and  I 

1  Bonaffe  in  his  inventory  mentions  eighty-eight  pieces  of  tapestry, 
334  silver  dishes,  besides  gold  plate,  jewels,  coffers  of  ivory,  velvet 
saddles,  a  litter  lined  with  green  satin,  a  spinet  and  other  musical 
instruments,  and  a  great  train  of  servants  and  a  fine  stud  of  hunting 
horses. 


56  Renaissance  Chateaux 

was  surprised  as  well  as  disappointed  to  see 
her  purse  her  lips  with  stern  determination  as 
I  put  the  question. 

"  Ah  !  Madame  has  then  heard  the  story  of 
the  Madonna  of  the  Ermine  Mantle,"  she  re- 
marked disapprovingly.  "  That  set  of  tapes- 
tries is  no  longer  at  La  Motte  Feuilly,  for  it 
was  reburied  after  the  tomb  was  opened. 
Even  if  it  had  not  been  replaced  who  could 
identify  the  Madonna  now,  since,  as  Madame 
doubtless  knows,  the  ermine  mantle  had  en- 
tirely disappeared  ?  We  never  mention  them 
to  people  who  are  not  familiar  with  the  story, 
it  is  too  horrible." 

I  had  never  heard  a  whisper  of  the  legend, 
but  since  it  was  so  delightfully  grewsome  I 
was  consumed  by  an  irresistible  curiosity  to 
learn  how  the  Madonna  lost  her  ermine  man- 
tle and  why  and  when  the  tapestries  were 
buried.  To  admit  ignorance  was  to  defeat 
my  own  desires  ;  I  must  proceed  with  duplicity, 
and  I  asked  unconcernedly  where  these  fam- 
ous tapestries  had  hung. 

"In  the  state  guest-chamber,"  Maricinthe  re- 
plied, as  she  led  us  to  a  spacious  room  denuded 
of  all  furniture  with  the  exception  of  a  four- 
poster  bedstead,  which,  stripped  of  its  draperies, 
stood  bare  and  gaunt  on  a  raised  dais. 


The  Madonna  of  the  Ermine  Mantle     57 

"  This  apartment  is  called  the  Bedchamber 
of  Anne  de  Bretagne"  Maricinthe  explained, 
"  though  it  is  doubtful  if  the  Queen  ever  slept 
here,  for  she  came  to  the  chateau  but  once, 
and  that  was  to  attend  the  funeral  of  Char- 
lotte d'Albret.  When  the  poor  lady's  will 
was  read  it  was  found  that  she  had  left  the 
tapestries  to  the  Queen,  because  her  Majesty 
was  so  fond  of  ermine,  and  because  they  had 
been  her  own  choicest  possession,  being  the 
only  gift  which  her  wicked  husband  had  ever 
sent  her.  They  were  intended  as  hangings 
for  a  bed.  One  was  square — that  was  for  the 
head — and  on  it  there  was  a  picture  of  the 
Madonna  enthroned.  The  other  strips  were 
narrower — they  were  for  the  sides  and  foot. 
What  made  the  largest  tapestry  most  remark- 
able was  the  richness  with  which  the  Queen 
of  Heaven  was  clothed.  Her  robe  was  em- 
broidered with  fleur-de-lis,  worked  by  hand  on 
the  woven  web  with  gold  thread.  Her  crown 
was  studded  with  real  gems,  and  a  mantle  of 
soft  white  fur  was  draped  over  the  back  of  her 
throne,  and  swept  in  heavy  folds  like  a  snow- 
drift down  the  steps.  This  mantle  was 
neither  woven  nor  embroidered,  but  painted 
on  with  some  white  pigment,  and  so  heavily 
loaded  that  flakes  fell  from  it  and  floated  in 


58  Renaissance  Chateaux 

the  air  as  the  tapestry  was  unrolled.  The 
wings  of  the  angels  were  painted  also  on  the 
narrow  hangings,  and  they  shed  their  feathers 
in  the  same  way,  so  that  a  naughty  page  cried 
out  that  the  angels  were  moulting." 

"  And  so  it  was  in  this  bed  that  Charlotte 
d'Albret  met  her  death,  poisoned  by  her  per- 
fidious husband  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  no,  Madame  ;  who  said  the  tapestries 
were  poisoned  ?  Not  I,  very  surely.  When- 
ever malicious  people  say  anything  to  me 
about  poison  I  never  understand  them.  Is  it 
for  me  to  set  up  my  opinion  and  to  deserve  to 
be  put  in  the  stocks  by  letting  the  chateau 
have  a  bad  name  ?  The  next  thing  they 
would  be  saying  it  was  haunted,  or  unhealthy, 
and  we  would  have  detectives  and  health  offi- 
cers and  such  indigne  persons  demanding  to 
inspect  the  premises." 

"  Doubtless  you  are  right,  Maricinthe,  and 
there  is  probably  no  truth  in  the  wild  rumour 
that  the  Queen  contracted  a  mysterious  illness 
and  died  soon  after  her  visit  to  this  chateau, 
and  that  the  King's  death  was  also  planned." 

"  Holy  Saints  !  where  has  Madame  heard 
such  a  wicked  slander  ?  No  one  was  murdered, 
not  even  Charlotte  d'Albret,  who  lived  for 
twenty  years  after  she  received  the  tapestries." 


The  Madonna  of  the  Ermine  Mantle    59 

"  Maricinthe,  when  people  attempt  to  sup- 
press the  truth  worse  things  are  sure  to  be 
imagined.  We  all  know  that  Cesar  Borgia 
was  capable  of  any  villainy.  If  the  tapestries 
were  painted  by  his  order  with  ermine,  the 
blazon  of  Anne  de  Bretagne,  what  more  natural 
than  to  suppose  that  he  intended  them  for 
her?  And  since  Charlotte  really  gave  them 
to  the  Queen  why  is  it  not  possible  that  she 
was  his  accomplice  ?  " 

"  Madame,  I  know  not  how  many  persons 
that  child  of  the  evil  one  may  have  schemed  to 
poison  with  his  diabolical  tapestries.  I  only 
know  that  his  wife  was  innocent,  and  that  the 
hangings  injured  no  one.  I  will  confide  every- 
thing to  Madame  if  she  will  only  contradict 
those  lying  slanders.  A  letter  came  with  the 
tapestries  from  Cesar  Borgia,  telling  his  wife 
that  they  were  for  her  own  bed,  he  professing 
anxiety  lest  the  dampness  of  the  castle,  encom- 
passed as  it  is  by  the  river,  might  breed 
miasma ;  and  he  begged  her  most  lovingly  to 
draw  the  curtains  close  and  to  fancy  that  the 
Madonna  was  wrapping  her  warm  and  safe  in 
the  white  softness  of  her  mantle. 

"  The  deluded  lady  was  overjoyed  by  this 
proof  of  her  husband's  affection.  She  had  this 
room  refurnished  and  made  the  finest  in  the 


60  Renaissance  Chateaux 

chateau.  The  tapestries  were  hung  about 
the  bed  just  as  it  stands  there,  and  I  am  told 
that  the  coverlet  was  crimson  velvet  sown  with 
golden  stars,  with  the  Bourbon  lilies  and  the 
great  bull's  head  of  the  Borgias  in  the  centre. 
But  she  would  not  allow  anyone  to  sleep  here, 
nor  would  she  lie  in  that  bed,  she  swore,  until 
her  dear  lord  came  back  to  share  it  with  her. 
Years  went  by,  but  though  the  room  was  un- 
disturbed no  moth  ever  burrowed  in  those 
tapestries,  no  spider  darkened  the  window 
with  its  web,  no  fly  buzzed  on  the  pane,  no 
mouse  nibbled  through  the  wainscot,  and  no 
cricket  chirped  upon  the  hearth,  and  these  little 
creatures  of  the  good  God  shun  the  room  to 
this  day.  Has  not  Madame  observed  that 
save  when  we  are  talking  the  place  is  as  still 
— as  still  as  death  ?  I  threw  open  the  window 
when  we  came  in,  but  the  humming-birds  that 
are  so  thick  about  the  honeysuckles,  and  that 
glance  in  and  out  of  the  other  rooms,  all  flew 
away.  Frou-frou,  my  cat,  who  has  all  the 
curiosity  of  a  human  being,  will  not  cross  the 
sill,  and  does  not  Madame  detect  a  faint  suffo- 
cating odour  as  though  something  had  just 
been  carried  through  the  room  ?  Look  you, 
Madame,  how  stupid  the  Fates  are.  Cesar  Bor- 
gia should  have  come,  and  should  have  slept 


The  Madonna  of  the  Ermine  Mantle    61 

in  this  room  alone.  I  often  think  I  could  have 
made  a  better  ending  to  the  story.  But  when 
his  poor  lady  heard  that  he  was  with  her 
brother,  and  like  to  return  at  last  to  France, 
she  was  wild  with  happiness,  and  wrote  him 
how  she  had  kept  the  tapestries  for  him,  and 
he  replied,  4  It  is  well ;  let  no  one  use  them  till 
I  come.' 

"  He  never  came.  Madame  knows  how  he 
died,  fighting  the  enemies  of  France.  Charlotte 
d'Albret  rejoiced  more  over  his  honourable 
death  than  for  any  act  of  his  false  life.  When 
she  knew  that  she  was  dying  she  was  happier 
still.  '  He  could  not  come  to  me,'  she  said, 
'  but  I  am  going  to  him.  Lay  my  dead  body 
in  state  under  his  tapestries,  for  at  last  we  shall 
be  together.'  So  they  dressed  her  in  her 
bravest,  and  placed  her  on  that  bed  with  the 
lilies  of  France  on  her  pall  and  an  Annuncia- 
tion lily  in  her  hand,  and  they  wrote  to  the 
Queen.  She  came,  for  Charlotte  d'Albret  and 
she  had  been  girls  together  ;  and  when  Anne 
de  Bretagne  knew  all  that  I  have  told,  she 
would  not  accept  her  friend's  bequest,  but 
caused  her  coffin  to  be  lined  with  the  tapestries 
which  had  been  her  dearest  treasure,  and  her- 
self lapped  them  about  the  little  body  tired 
out  with  such  long  waiting.  And  so  they  laid 


62  Renaissance  Chateaux 

the  wife  of  Cesar  Borgia,  in  her  tomb  in  the 
cathedral  of  Bourges,  covered  warm  and  safe 
from  the  grave-damp  in  the  Madonna's  mantle 
and  the  downy  wings  of  the  angels." 

"  That  is  not  all  the  story  ? "  I  said  at  last, 
for  Maricinthe  had  closed  the  windows  and 
was  leading  the  way  to  the  little  ora- 
tory. "  Why  was  it  that  the  tomb  was  ever 
opened  ?  " 

Maricinthe  crossed  herself.  "  It  was  dur- 
ing the  Revolution.  Yes,  Madame,  that  mad- 
ness born  in  Paris  penetrated  even  into  such 
out-of-the-way  corners  as  Berri,  and  the  no- 
bility fled  before  it,  while  the  rabble  rifled 
their  chateaux,  violated  their  tombs,  and  scat- 
tered the  dust  of  the  aristocrats  to  the  winds. 
But  when  they  broke  open  the  tomb  of  Char- 
lotte d'Albret,  and  turned  back  the  tapestries 
which  had  wrapped  her  for  three  hundred 
years,  they  found  her  body  as  perfect  as  when 
it  was  buried,  and  her  face  far  fresher  and 
fairer,  for  all  the  traces  of  sorrow  and  age 
were  gone,  and  it  seemed  as  young  as  on  her 
wedding  morn.  The  impious  ones  fled  before 
that  miracle,  not  daring  to  take  so  much  as  a 
jewel  from  her  finger.  Pious  people  came  in 
the  dead  of  night  and  replaced  the  coffin 
in  the  tomb,  and  the  broken  lid  upon  the  top 


The  Madonna  of  the  Ermine  Mantle    63 

as  one  sees  it  to-day  ;  but  before  they  folded 
the  tapestries  about  her  form  they  saw  that  the 
angels  were  wingless,  and  that  the  Madonna 
had  lost  her  ermine  mantle  ;  and  they  com- 
prehended that  the  arsenic  which  was  intended 
to  cause  her  death  had  kept  her  fair  body 
from  corruption." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  FANGS  OF  IRON 

A  LEGEND  OF  THE  CHATEAU  DE  MEILLANT 

HIDDEN  in  the  depths  of  an  extensive 
forest  on  the  confines  of  the  old  pro- 
vinces of  Berri  and  Bourbonnais,  not  far  from 
the  city  of  Bourges,  the  chateau  of  Meillant, 
quite  unknown  to  the  world  at  large,  still 
rears  its  stately  towers  to  tell  us  of  the  regal 
state  of  one  of  the  grand  vassals  of  Old  France. 
You  will  find  his  portrait  in  the  Louvre,  long 
attributed  to  Da  Vinci,  but  now  assigned  by 
experts  to  his  pupil  Solario.  Many  pause 
questionihgly  before  the  canvas,  for  it  shows 
a  noble  young  man,  wearing  the  golden  collar 
of  linked  shells,  the  Order  of  St.  Michel, 
whose  melancholy  eyes  have  a  haunting  fasci- 
nation, for  the  expression  of  the  face  is  one  of 
great  gentleness  and  sweetness.  We  under- 
stand its  weariness  and  the  worn  hollows  in 
the  sallow  cheeks  when  we  read  that  this  was 
Charles  Chaumont  Amboise,  and  remember 

64 


CHARLES  CHAUMONT  AMBOISE.. 

FROM   THE  PAINTING  BV  SOLARIO,   IN  THE  LOUVRE. 

(By  permission  of  Neurxlein,  Paris.) 


The  Fangs  of  Iron  65 

the  weight  of  responsibility  which  Charles 
VIII.  and  Louis  XII.  threw  upon  his  shoulders 
in  the  command  of  their  Italian  campaigns. 
He  was  the  close  friend  of  the  Chevalier 
Bayard,  and  legends  of  that  young  knight 
cling  like  the  climbing  roses  to  the  walls  of 
the  old  chateau  where  he  was  a  guest.  Bay- 
ard's anonymous  chronicler,  who  signs  him- 
self Le  Loyal  Serviteiir,  knew  Chaumont 
Amboise  personally,  and  thus  sums  up  his 
character  : 

"A  little  while  after  [February,  1511],  in 
a  place  called  Correggio,  died  the  good  Seign- 
eur Chaumont  Amboise,  that  gentle  chevalier, 
who  for  ten  or  twelve  years  so  well  governed 
Lombardy  for  his  master,  the  King  of  France. 
He  was  during  his  lifetime  a  wise  and  virtu- 
ous lord,  of  great  vigilance  and  understand- 
ing of  affairs.  Death  took  him  too  soon,  for 
he  was  only  thirty-eight,  and  but  twenty-five 
when  was  entrusted  to  him  the  duchy  of 
Milan.  God  by  His  grace  grant  him  pardon, 
for  he  was  a  good  man  all  his  life." 

The  bon  mot,  "Milan  a  fait  Mcillant"  was 
true,  for  Amboise  lavished  his  resources  in 
the  building  of  this  superb  chateau,  which 
remains  a  monument  to  his  taste  and  wealth. 

The  fagade  of  the  chateau  is  diversified  by 


66  Renaissance  Chateaux 

numerous  towers  ;  the  Tour  des  Sarasins,  the 
only  relic  of  the  old  feudal  castle,  is  a  grim 
donjon-keep,  once  a  part  of  the  protecting 
enceinte,  and  stands  like  an  old  sentinel  on  the 
forest  side  of  the  chateau  ;  the  Ladies'  Tower 
and  the  Tour  de  la  Chatelaine  are  more  ele- 
gant, but  most  ornate  of  all  is  the  Tour  de 
Lion,  which  contains  the  grand  spiral  staircase. 
It  is  a  mass  of  sculpture,  the  foliations  of  the 
Gothic  herbal  interspersed  with  heraldic  orna- 
ments. It  is  bossed  all  over  with  the  burning 
mountain  (chaud  monfy,  which,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, cheerfully  suggests  a  flaming  Christmas 
pudding,  and  wild  men,  misshapen  and  hairy, 
who  hint  grotesquely  at  prehistoric  Darwinian 
ancestors. 

Within,  the  chateau  is  even  more  attractive, 
for  it  is  lovingly  cherished  by  its  present  own- 
ers, and  superbly  maintained  in  its  mediaeval 
state  so  far  as  is  consistent  with  comfort. 
Precious  tapestries  drape  the  walls,  and  full- 
length  portraits  of  Louis  XII.,  of  Cardinal 
and  of  Charles  Chaumont  Amboise,  stand 
where  their  originals  stood  four  hundred  years 
ago.  The  long  drawing-room  has  a  raftered 
ceiling  picked  out  in  gold  and  vermilion,  and  a 
great  fireplace  surmounted  by  a  curious  "tri- 
bune "  for  musicians.  On  the  panelling  which 


The  Fangs  of  Iron  67 

forms  the  balustrade  to  this  minstrels'  gallery  is 
a  series  of  paintings  representing  the  legends 
of  the  chateau.  The  central  panel  shows  a 
gay  cavalcade  at  the  time  of  the  visit  of  Louis 
XII.,  with  the  radiant  Bayard  caracoling  be- 
side a  coquettish  lady.  The  others  were 
equally  evident  in  their  signification,  with  the 
exception  of  a  forest  forge  presided  over  by  a 
half-savage  blacksmith. 

We  had  been  looking  at  this  uncouth  creat- 
ure in  vague  conjecture,  when  a  privileged  old 
servant  of  the  house  officiously  opened  the 
shutters  to  throw  a  stronger  light  upon  the 
picture. 

"  It  is  a  black  painting,"  he  said,  "  and  a 
blacker  story,  for  that  is  the  smith  who  forged 
the  perfidious  bit.  See  with  what  malice  he 
is  pounding  away  at  it,  the  demon  !  " 

"  The  bit  ?  "  I  questioned  ;  "  what  was 
that  ? " 

"  Has  Madame  not  heard  of  it  then,  the 
perfidious  bit  with  fangs  of  iron  ?  I  will 
show  it  to  Madame  if  she  is  interested  in 
authentic  relics.  It  is  of  the  time  of  the  great 
Chaumont  Amboise." 

I  replied  that  I  would  be  glad  to  see  it,  and 
asked  if  it  was  kept  in  the  stables. 

"  In  the  stables  !    An  incomparable  treasure 


68  Renaissance  Chateaux 

like  that  left  in  the  stables  !  It  is  in  a  glass 
case,  and  the  case  is  in  an  iron  safe  with  a 
combination  lock.  When  these  rascally  savants 
who  would  like  to  secure  it  for  their  Socittd 
pour  le  Vol  des  Monuments  Historiques  visit 
the  chateau  I  never  know  anything  about  it  ; 
but  one  sees  \yell  that  Madame  does  not  un- 
derstand its  value.  I  can  trust  it  to  Madame  ; 
but  these  people  who  are  up  in  history,  I 
would  not  show  it  to  one  of  them,  not  under  a 
guard  of  soldiers." 

Smoothing  the  ruffled  dignity  of  the  honest 
old  servitor,  I  asked  if  Amboise  used  it  in  his 
Italian  campaign. 

"  It  played  its  part  in  Italy,  but  when  you 
see  that  villainous  instrument  of  torture  you 
will  comprehend  that  Chaumont  Amboise 
could  never  have  allowed  it  to  be  put  within  a 
horse's  mouth.  That  miracle  of  Satan  was  in- 
tended to  compass  the  defeat  of  the  French 
army  in  Italy,  and  it  was  the  knight  sans  pcur 
et  sans  reproche  who  used  it  on  his  best  horse, 
Carman,  a  blessed  creature  with  the  intelli- 
gence of  a  man  and  the  heart  of  a  woman." 

The  old  man  placed  before  me  two  com- 
plicated and  cruel  bits,  or,  rather,  the  same 
piece  of  mechanism  in  duplicate.  One,  the 
original  object,  of  ancient  iron  corroded  with 


The  Fangs  of  Iron  69 

ochreous  rust,  the  other,  a  bright  steel  model 
which  had  been  made  in  imitation.  Heavy  and 
cumbersome  as  was  the  relic,  it  was  still  an 
ingenious  instrument,  for  the  least  tension 
on  the  rein  would  thrust  two  sharp  spikes  into 
the  horse's  mouth,  causing  the  wretched  beast 
the  most  intolerable  anguish.  We  exclaimed 
against  the  possibility  of  the  kindly  Bayard 
ever  serving  himself  with  such  a  diabolical 
contrivance  ;  and  the  old  steward  nodded  his 
head,  apparently  taking  pleasure  in  our  doubt. 
"  There  is  no  telling  what  a  man  will  do  for 
the  sake  of  a  pretty  woman,"  he  said,  "  and 
this  is  no  fairy  story  but  history,  and  the  proof 
of  it  is  double.  In  the  first  place  it  is  written 
down  in  a  book  in  Latin,  and  in  the  second 
place  here  is  the  bit.  4  Who  wrote  down  the 
story?'  Some  old  chaplain  of  the  chateau 
like  enough.  It  has  always  been  believed 
here.  I  have  heard  the  old  General,  the 
grandfather  of  the  present  Duchess,  tell  it 
many  an  evening,  when  I  brought  in  the 
mulled  wine  after  the  musicians  had  left,  and 
the  young  people  were  tired  enough  with 
dancing  to  sit  quietly  around  the  great  fire- 
place and  ask  him  the  meaning  of  the  paint- 
ings above  it.  They  would  give  him  no  peace 
till  he  wrote  the  legend  out  in  French,  and  if 


70  Renaissance  Chateaux 

Madame  wishes  to   read  it  't  is  quite  at  her 
disposal." 

He  shuffled  off  to  the  library  and  brought 
the  monograph,  and,  seated  where  the  old 
General  was  wont,  some  fifty  years  agone,  to 
tell  the  story,  I  read  the  tradition  of  this 
strange  heirloom  of  Meillant.  Later,  in  com- 
paring this  local  legend  with  the  chronicle 
of  Bayard's  adventures,  the  following  story 
gradually  revealed  itself  and  I  was  able  to 
trace  in  sequence  the  complete  history  of  the 
Fangs  of  Iron. 

THE  LEGEND 

At  the  time  of  the  visit  of  their  Majesties 
Louis  XII.  and  Anne  de  Bretagne  to  the 
chateau  of  Meillant,  the  Queen  brought  with 
her  a  train  of  maids  of  honour  who  filled  the 
chambers  under  the  roof  whose  chiselled 
dormers  are  still  so  greatly  admired.  They 
were  more  prettily  decorated  at  that  time  with 
blonde-  and  auburn-  and  jetty-tressed  heads 
bobbing  in  and  out,  with  all  their  butterfly 
flutter  of  scarfs  and  painted  fans  and  flowers 
tossed  to  gallant  knights  in  the  garden,  all 
vanishing  like  gold-fish  in  a  pool  when  the 
Queen  came  upon  the  terrace,  for  she  was  a 
greater  stickler  for  propriety  than  the  Virgin 


The  Fangs  of  Iron  71 

in  the  chapel.  But  where  there  is  honey  there 
will  be  burfible-bees,  and  the  King's  knights 
were  continually  coming  and  going.  There 
were  messengers  from  the  war  in  Italy,  and 
sometimes  from  Amboise  himself,  who  was 
detained  by  cares  of  his  office  at  Milan.  His 
wife  was  assisted  in  her  duties  as  hostess  by 
her  husband's  uncle,  the  Cardinal  George 

o 

Amboise,  who  took  as  much  pleasure  in  doing 
the  honours  of  his  nephew's  beautiful  chateau 
as  though  it  were  his  own. 

What  with  hunting  parties  all  day,  and  rev- 
elry of  a  decorous  kind  by  night,  the  stay  of 
the  royal  guests  was  a  continual  fete.  One 
day,  two  knights  drew  rein  at  the  castle  gate. 
They  had  been  sent  with  despatches  by  the 
master  of  the  chateau,  and  he  had  chosen  for 
the  service  his  best  aides,  Louis  d'Ars  and  the 
young  Bayard.  The  General  had  his  reasons 
for  making  this  selection,  for  Louis  d'Ars  was 
a  native  of  this  region  and  would  be  glad  of  a 
furlough  to  see  his  own  people,  while  Amboise 
wished  to  bring  Bayard  to  the  notice  of  the 
Kincr.  The  fame  of  a  tournament  which  he 

o 

had  given  to  his  brother-officers,  and  on  which 
he  had  lavished  all  his  fortune,  had  preceded 
him.  Extravagance  was  a  fault  which  Bayard 
never  outlived  ;  it  made  him  share  every 


72  Renaissance  Chateaux 

prize  he  obtained  with  his  fellow-knights,  and 
he  was  reckless  in  his  munificence.  He  loved 
to  go  gloriously  bedight,  his  armour  was  inlaid 
Milanese  steel,  and  all  elegance  of  apparel 
and  distinction  of  manner  were  as  natural  to 
him  as  perfume  and  velvet  petals  to  the  rose. 

He  had  filled  his  pouch  with  engraved  gems 
at  the  Milanese  shops,  to  have  some  "  pretty 
trifles  "  with  which  to  pleasure  the  ladies,  and 
when  there  were  none  of  these  left  he  would 
give  a  flower  with  a  compliment  turned  with 
such  aplomb  that  it  answered  as  well. 

But  there  were  those  amonor  the  Queen's 

O  '""•I-' 

maidens  who  would  have  had  him  less  impar- 
tial, and  she  who  found  him  most  admirable 
was  a  certain  Demoiselle  Lupine,  the  daughter 
of  a  French  officer,  who  since  the  death  of  her 
Italian  mother  had  been  confided  to  the  care 
of  the  Queen.  The  girl  made  no  attempt  to 
hide  her  preferences  and  railed  and  mocked  at 
all  things  French  with  the  impertinence  of  a 
spoiled  child — until  the  coming  of  Bayard.  To 
do  him  justice  he  never  sought  her  out.  She 
came  in  for  a  flower  after  his  cameos  were  all 
bestowed,  and  she  made  pretence  of  tossing  it 
away  disdainfully,  but  ran  and  picked  it  up 
when  none  of  the  other  maids  were  looking. 
She  let  Bayard  see  that  she  wore  it,  too,  and 


h-  CM 

<  =" 

-J  "3 

-  "E 

u  5 

s  x 

u.  ^ 

O  o 


The  Fangs  of  Iron  73 

threw  him  a  kiss  with  it  from  her  window, 
which  caused  the  knight  to  knit  his  brows, 
though  he  doffed  his  hat  in  all  politeness. 

Bayard  was  the  best  horseman  in  the  army, 
and  the  King  had  given  him  the  sobriquet  of 
Piquet  because  he  spurred  so  gallantly.  The 
Demoiselle  Lupine  was  also  a  fearless  rider, 
and  in  the  hunts  these  two  would  lead  the 
others  close  at  the  heels  of  the  quarry  no 
matter  how  swift  or  how  dangerous,  for  she 
feared  the  savage  boar  as  little  as  the  roe  deer. 

There  were  wolves  in  the  forest,  and  once, 
when  Bayard  and  Lupine  had.  become  sep- 
arated from  their  companions  and  were  riding 
though  a  lonely  part  of  the  domain,  Bayard 
was  ware  of  a  great  grey  wolf  loping  leisurely 
along  in  a  parallel  direction.  Sometimes  he 
would  pause  in  a  thicket,  and  they  would  catch 
the  gleam  of  his  fiery  eyes  watching  them,  and 
again  he  would  dash  on  ahead,  dodging  the 
trees  though  his  head  was  turned  backward 

o 

and  his  eyes  fixed  upon  them.  Bayard  would 
have  attacked  the  animal  at  its  first  appear- 
ance but  Lupine  caught  at  his  bridle. 

"  It  is  a  loup-garou?  she  said  ;  "  I  know  that 
kind.  You  could  not  kill  it  if  you  tried,  and 
he  would  call  the  entire  pack.  He  will  do  us 
no  harm  if  we  speak  him  fair."  With  that  she 


74  Renaissance  Chateaux 

called  to  the  wolf  in  a  strange  language,  and 
he  wagged  his  tail  like  a  dog,  and  fell  behind, 
trotting  quietly  after  them.  Bayard  did  not 
like  this  manoeuvre,  and  he  kept  the  wolf  in 
view  from  over  his  shoulder,  just  as  the  creat- 
ure had  watched  him. 

The  knight's  horse  presently  cast  a  shoe, 
when,  strange  to  relate,  the  wolf  darted  into 
the  road,  seized  it  in  his  mouth,  and  disappeared 
in  the  forest. 

"  The  beast  must  be  half  starved,"  said 
Bayard,  "  since  he  tries  to  eat  iron."  He 
dismounted  and  examined  his  horse's  hoof. 
"  Here  is  a  coil,"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  there  is  an 
ugly  nail  left  which  will  lame  Carman  unless 
I  can  find  a  smithy." 

"  There  is  a  forge  in  the  forest  not  far 
away,"  said  Lupine,  "  where  lives  a  cunning 
smith  who  will  answer  your  needs." 

At  the  forge  she  uttered  the  same  words 
which  she  had  addressed  to  the  wolf,  and 
there  appeared  a  savage  man  like  the  wild 
creatures  who  support  the  Amboise  coat  of 
arms.  He  examined  the  horse's  hoof  and  at 
once  set  to  work. 

"  An  ordinary  shoe  will  not  fit  my  horse," 
said  Bayard  ;  "  he  is  an  Anclalusian.  I 
bought  him  in  Naples  where  he  was  left  by 


The  Fangs  of  Iron  75 

the  Spaniards.      His  hoof  is  smaller  than  that 
of  a  French  horse." 

"  I  could  have  told  that,  Sir  Knight,"  re- 
plied the  blacksmith,  "  for  I  have  been  in 
Italy,"  and  he  chose  a  shoe  from  among 
others  which  hung  upon  the  wall  ;  Bayard 
started,  and  after  they  had  resumed  their  ride 
and  were  at  some  distance  he  said  to  Lupine  : 
"  There  is  some  sorcery  here,  for  the  shoe 
which  the  smith  has  fitted  is  the  same  that 
Carman  dropped  and  which  the  wolf  carried 
away.  It  is  an  Italian  shoe;  there  is  none  like 
it  in  France." 

Lupine  scouted  the  notion.  "  He  told  you 
that  he  had  been  in  Italy,"  she  said,  "  and  he 
might  well  have  brought  it  with  him.  He  is 
a  skilled  workman  in  iron,  and  he  made  the 
weathercocks  for  the  chateau  in  the  form  of 
lances  with  bannerets.  Amboise  has  given 
him  authority  to  stamp  all  of  his  work  with 
his  own  emblem  of  the  burning  mountain." 

"  In  spite  of  what  you  say,"  Bayard  replied, 
"  I  do  not  like  the  man's  looks,  and  Carman 
did  not  like  him." 

41  Carman  is,  like  his  master,  too  suspicious  ; 
he  does  not  like  me,  but  I  think  I  could 
master  him." 

This  was  the  girl's  ruling  passion,  mastery. 


76  Renaissance  Chateaux 

She  besought  Bayard  one  day  to  let  her  ride 
Carman,  but  the  knight  demurred. 

"  And  why,  Piquet  ?  "  she  persisted  ;  "  since  I 
have  never  seen  the  horse  which  could  do  me 
harm,  were  he  ever  so  ugly  a  brute." 

"  Carman  is  the  gentlest  creature  in  the 
world  with  me,"  replied  Bayard,  "but  he  has 
never  been  ridden  by  a  woman;  your  woman's 
gear  flapping  against  his  side  would  frighten 
him,  and  if  he  once  takes  it  into  his  head  to 
run  you  could  no  more  hold  him  than  a 
hurricane." 

"  Did  he  ever  run  with  you,  Piquet  ?"  asked 
the  Demoiselle  Lupine. 

"  Yes,  Demoiselle  ;  it  was  the  first  time  that 
he  had  been  in  battle.  When  he  heard  the 
cannon  he  was  restless,  and  when  a  ball  from 
an  arquebus  cut  that  nick  in  his  right  ear  he 
went  wild  and  ran.  I  tugged  with  all  my 
might,  but  could  not  master  him  and  he  fairly 
ran  away  with  me." 

The  Demoiselle  clapped  her  hands  and 
laughed  maliciously.  "  And  so  Bayard,  sans 
peur,  ran  away  in  battle.  Ah  !  it  is  lucky  he 
has  the  horse  to  blame.  Are  you  sure,  Piquet, 
that  you  are  not  a  bit  ashamed  to  confess  that 
you  were  afraid  ?  " 

Bayard  flushed.      "  I  had  cause  to  be  afraid 


The  Fangs  of  Iron  77 

but  not  ashamed,  for  Carman  took  me  in  the 
direction  of  the  enemy.  I  chased  a  party  of 
them  straight  into  the  city  of  Milan,  I  sawing 
at  the  bit  with  all  my  might,  when  I  should 
have  known  better,  for  Carman  always  runs 
the  faster  when  his  mouth  is  galled,  and  so, 
like  a  fool,  I  dashed  straight  through  the  city 
gates  and  was  taken  prisoner." 

The  girl's  mockery  changed  in  a  flash  to 
admiration. 

"  Piquet,"  she  said,  "  you  will  never  make 
me  believe  that  you  could  not  have  stopped 
Carman  if  you  had  tried.  I  have  heard  that 
story,  and  how  Sforza  said  that  it  was  such  a 
gallant  deed  that  he  freed  you  without  ran- 
som. Carman  has  learned  since  not  to  run 
away  in  battle,  for  his  neck  and  head  are 
covered  with  welts  that  tell  of  hand-to-hand 
encounters." 

"  He  has  been  in  many  battles  since," 
Bayard  replied,  "  but  he  received  all  those 
wounds  at  Fornovo.  But  this  time  he  made 
no  attempt  to  run,  though  in  the  struggle  for 
the  standard  he  got  two  prods  in  the  side 
and  a  dozen  cuts  over  the  head.  After  the 
battle  I  led  him  to  the  surgeon  and  the  intelli- 
gent beast  knelt  and  laid  his  head  in  my  lap 
and  let  the  leech  sew  up  his  wounds  as  a  man 


78  Renaissance  Chateaux 

might  have  done.  After  that  you  may  be 
sure  that  Carman  is  no  longer  to  me  a  horse 
but  my  brother.  I  could  never  allow  him  to 
be  beaten  or  handled  as  I  have  seen  you 
handle  a  horse,  Demoiselle,  nor  would  Carman 
allow  it.  If  you  struck  him  over  the  head  he 
would  kill  you." 

Cardinal  Amboise  had  entered  the  room  as 
Bayard  began  to  speak  of  his  horse,  and  had 
listened  with  interest.  "  Carman  is  a  better 
Christian  than  some  churchmen,"  he  said, 
"  since  he  does  not  betray  his  friend." 

"That  was  a  scurvy  trick  which  his  Holi- 
ness played  you,"  said  Bayard,  well  knowing 
to  what  transaction  the  Cardinal  referred. 

"  We  must  distinguish  between  the  man 
and  his  office,"  replied  George  Amboise. 
"The  Pope  is  infallible,  but  Julian  de  Rovere 
is  a  knave." 

"Some  day,  your  Eminence,  I  will  bring 
Rovere  to  you  and  he  shall  beg  your  pardon 
for  his  treachery." 

The  Cardinal  smiled,  but  shook  his  head. 
After  he  had  left  them  Bayard  told  Lupine 
how  Julius  had  tricked  his  trusting  friend  out 
of  the  papacy.  "  If  I  meet  him  once  in  open 
field,"  said  Bayard  in  conclusion,  "  the  good 
Cardinal  shall  be  avenged." 


The  Fangs  of  Iron  79 

"  Piquet,"  said  Lupine,  speaking  almost  in  a 
whisper,  "  we  will  do  it !  " 

Bayard  started,  and  looked  at  her  question- 
ing1^ 

"  I  will  go  back  to  Rome,"  she  explained. 
"  I  am  an  Italian ;  I  can  understand  and 
speak,  I  can  write  and  read  the  language. 
I  can  listen  ;  I  can  find  trusty  messengers. 
I  will  serve  you  as  a  spy,  and  you  shall  have 
your  opportunity,  you  shall  take  the  Pope 
prisoner  and  bring  him  to  France." 

Bayard  protested.  "  A  spy's  work  is  not 
for  you,  Demoiselle,  and  I  would  rather  fight 
without  advantage." 

"You  do  not  know,"  she  cried,  "what  I  can 
do, — what  we  can  do  together.  Call  me  not 
Demoiselle,  Piquet,  but  Lupine  ;  is  it  not  a 
pretty  name  ?  " 

"  No,  Demoiselle,  it  has  a  strange  likeness 
to  the  word  '  wolf '  ;  I  do  not  fancy  it." 

"  And  your  king's  name  is  Louis — what  is 
that  but  '  wolf  '  ?  I  am  a  true  sister  of  Romulus 
and  Remus — a  daughter  of  Rome  ;  the  little 
cubs  have  sharp  teeth." 

Even  as  she  spoke  the  King  entered. 

"  Good  news,  Piquet  !  "  he  cried.  "  We  are 
off  for  Italy  :  I  have  a  despatch  from  the  Ad- 
miral. The  Pope  is  carrying  the  war  into  the 


8o  Renaissance  Chateaux 

duchy  of  Ferrara.  We  must  succour  our  good 
ally,  the  Duke." 

"  Sire,"  replied  Bayard,  "  Carman  and  I  are 
eager  to  don  our  armour.  When  do  we 
start  ?  " 

An  hour  later  the  groom  who  brought 
Carman  to  the  foot  of  the  Lion  Tower  thrust 
this  note  into  Bayard's  hand. 

"  The  little  wolf  sets  out  to-morrow  for  the 
hunt.  She  will  track  the  quarry.  You  may 
know  that  you  are  close  upon  it  when  you  see 
her  footprints." 

The  only  signature  was  a  shapeless  blot, 
with  three  smaller  ones  above  and  one  below, 
a  rude  representation  of  the  imprint  made  by  a 
wolf's  foot. 

In  the  excitement  of  the  coming  campaign 
Bayard  almost  forgot  the  incident  of  his  last 
day  at  Chateau  Meillant.  But  one  day  the 
unwelcome  news  was  brought  that  Julius 
himself  was  ranging  the  country,  that  his 
troops  had  invested  Mirandola,  and  that  he 
was  doubtless  watching  for  an  opportunity  to 
attack  Ferrara. 

A  little  later  Bayard  found  within  his 
helmet  a  map  of  the  environs  of  the  city  on 
which  certain  characters  had  been  traced  in 
red  ink.  Over  the  fortress  of  St.  Felix  was  a 


THE  CHEVALIER  BAYARD. 

'       AFTER  A.  DE  NEUVILLE. 

(By  permission  of  Kstos  i  Lauriat.) 


The  Fangs  of  Iron  81 

papal  tiara,  beneath  it  a  wolfs  track,  and  be- 
tween it  and  heading  toward  the  beleaguered 
town  of  Mirandola  a  train  of  mules.  This 
convoy  appeared  to  be  skirting  a  small  lake 
about  half-way  between  the  two  towns.  The 
lake  itself  was  inscribed  with  the  date  of  the 
next  morning,  and  on  its  margin  Bayard  again 
descried  the  wolf's  track.  How  the  missive 
had  reached  him  Bayard  could  not  guess,  but 
its  meaning  was  perfectly  clear.  The  Pope 
and  Lupine  were  at  St.  Felix.  The  Pope  in- 
tended on  the  next  day  to  set  out  for 
Mirandola  to  watch  or  conduct  the  siege,  and 
would  pass  the  lonely  lake  at  the  point  indi- 
cated. Instantly  the  good  knight  communi- 
cated the  intelligence  to  the  Duke,  and  rode 
out  at  the  head  of  his  own  company  of  one 
hundred  lancers  to  lie  in  wait  for,  and  possibly 
capture  the  Pope. 

Starting  at  midnight,  they  reached  in  the 
morning  twilight  a  deserted  villa  between  the 
lake  and  the  main  road — which  they  judged 
an  excellent  place  for  an  ambuscade.  One  of 
the  lancers  beating  about  among  the  acacias 
discovered  a  donkey  with  paniers,  and  still  an- 
other found  its  owner,  a  boy,  fishing  for  eels  in 
the  lake.  He  was  rather  roughly  locked  in  one 
of  the  outbuildings,  for  it  was  important  that 


82  Renaissance  Chateaux 

no  news  of  their  presence  should  be  carried  to 
St.  Felix.  The  boy  had  asked  the  soldiers  to 
tell  their  captain  that  if  he  had  come  to  that 
place  for  the  sport  of  hunting,  he  could  show 
him  where  a  wary  old  fox  was  followed  by  a 
nimble  young  wolf.  The  men  had  repeated 
the  message,  laughing  at  the  simplicity  of  the 
youngster. 

"  I  think  I  will  see  this  boy,"  said  Bayard  ; 
"  he  may  mean  more  by  this  manner  of  talk 
than  appears." 

The  lad  lay  on  a  marble  bench  sobbing  in  a 
womanish  way.  Bayard  stroked  the  curly 
head  gently,  and  suddenly  the  boy's  arms 
were  flung  about  his  neck  and  a  hot  face 
pressed  against  his  own. 

"  Lupine  !  " 

"  You  knew  it  was  I  when  you  saw  the 
track  on  the  map  and  you  have  come.  Why 
do  you  put  me  away  ?  Are  you  displeased 
with  me  ?" 

"Yes;  you  should  not  have  come  here.  It 
was  a  reckless  thing  to  do.  What  might  have 
happened  to  you  in  this  lonely  place  ?" 

"  I  knew  you  were  coming,  and  that  I 
would  be  safe." 

"  Well,  so  you  are,  for  the  moment ;  but  I 
cannot  escort  you  to  your  home." 


The  Fangs  of  Iron  83 

"  Let  me  bide  with  you." 

"  No,  Lupine  ;  the  army  is  no  place  for  a 
woman.  Oh  !  why  did  you  leave  France  ? " 

"  To  give  you  your  opportunity,  ingrate. 
You  appear  to  have  forgotten  that  the  Pope 
passes  this  villa  to-day." 

"  Then,  Lupine,  since  I  owe  you  more  than 
I  can  ever  repay,  the  King  himself  shall  re- 
ward you.  If  I  ask  it,  he  will  dower  you 
more  richly  than  any  lady  in  France." 

"  So  be  it,  if  he  gives  me  the  husband  of  my 
choice  with  the  dowry." 

"  Lupine,  we  must  not  talk  together  here. 
When  does  the  Pope  set  out  from  St.  Felix  ? " 

"  He  was  to  leave  at  dawn ;  he  must  be 
even  now  upon  the  road." 

"  Think  you  he  would  stay  for  bad 
weather  ?  " 

"  No,  for  he  was  eager  to  be  the  first  to  en- 
ter Mirandola.  The  fortress  has  surrendered, 
but  the  Pope  sent  word  to  make  a  breach  in 
the  wall  that  he  might  lead  his  troops  in  like 
a  conqueror." 

They  were  standing  in  the  open  doorway, 
and  even  as  she  spoke  Bayard  saw  that  there 
was  a  commotion  among  his  men.  They  were 
saddling  in  haste,  and  a  man  came  running 
to  say  that  the  vidette  had  descried  the 


84  Renaissance  Chateaux 

approach  of  the  papal  troops.  With  spur  to 
flank  and  pikes  set  they  left  cover,  and  wildly 
shouting  dashed  on  the  convoy.  A  scurry  of 
snow  was  falling-  and  in  the  mist  and  confusion 
neither  the  attacking  party  nor  the  attacked 
could  be  sure  with  what  numbers  they  had  to 
do  ;  but  half  of  the  Frenchmen  deployed  swiftly 
to  the  rear  of  the  Italians,  thus  shutting  off 

o 

their  escape,  and  the  party,  finding  themselves 
surrounded,  threw  down  their  arms.  What 
was  Bayard's  disappointment  to  find  that  the 
Pope  was  not  with  them  ! 

"  He  turned  back  at  the  onset  of  the  storm," 
said  a  trembling  ecclesiastic.      "  He  hath  had 

o 

sharp  twinges  of  gout  and  dared  not  go  on," 
"  After  him  !  "  cried  Bayard  ;  "  we  may 
overtake  him  before  he  reaches  St.  Felix"  ; 
and  the  lancers,  leaving  only  a  handful  of  their 
number  to  guard  the  prisoners,  scoured  the 
plain  in  the  direction  of  the  fortress.  The 
storm  passed  when  they  were  within  a  mile  of 
St.  Felix,  and  they  saw  the  Pope  and  a  few 
guards  pausing  irresolutely  and  looking  at  the 
sky.  With  a  wild  cry  the  lancers  urged  for- 
ward their  horses,  but  the  Pope,  who  had  at 
first  mistaken  them  for  his  own  soldiers,  com- 
prehended the  situation  and  fled  precipitately 
into  the  castle.  He  was  off  his  mule  tugging 


The  Fangs  of  Iron  85 

at  its  chains  as  they  swept  up  to  the  moat,  and 
the  portcullis  rattled  in  its  fall  as  Carman 
reared  before  the  wide  water.  Archers  ran 
to  the  battlements,  and  Bayard  reluctantly 
heeded  the  call  of  his  men,  and  wheeling  re- 
joined them  under  a  flight  of  arrows. 

It  was  so  nearly  successful  !  He  trotted 
back  silently,  with  drooping  head,  and  took 
the  road  which  led  to  Ferrara,  when  his  lieu- 
tenant, Belabre,  who  had  been  left  with  the 
prisoners,  accosted  him. 

"  Please  you,  sir,  the  fisher-boy  that  we 
found  at  the  villa  would  have  speech  with 
you." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  him,"  Bayard  re- 
plied impatiently ;  "  nay,  tell  him  that  the 
fault  was  none  of  his  and  he  shall  not  miss  his 
reward." 

Lupine,  who  had  followed  her  messenger, 
called  to  him  :  "One  word,  Sir  Knight.  All 
is  not  lost ;  there  is  still  an  expedient." 

Bayard  eyed  her  askance.  "  You  have  done 
what  you  could  and  have  failed,  as  I  have. 
Said  I  not  this  was  no  business  for  such  as 
you  ?  " 

She  came  close  and  held  his  stirrup. 
"  Listen,  I  can  do  better.  I  am  going  back 
to  St.  Felix  with  my  donkey's  paniers  full  of 


86  Renaissance  Chateaux 

eels.  The  Pope  is  fond  of  them  and  these  go 
to  his  kitchen.  They  will  make  a  famous 
pasty, —  his  morning  exercise  will  have  given 
him  an  appetite." 

"  Surely  I  catch  not  your  meaning,"  cried 
Bayard.  "  You  cannot  mean  to  poison  the 
Pope  ? " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No  poison  that  any 
leech  can  cure  or  alchemist  discover.  It  is  a 
poison  like  the  venom  of  serpents  made  by 
nature.  See  :  among  those  eels  there  is  one 
that  I  killed  yesterday  at  this  time.  It  lay  all 
day  in  the  sun,  distilling  drops  which  I  shall 
squeeze  into  the  mouth  of  the  fattest,  liveliest 
eel  of  all  ;  it  will  not  have  ceased  its  squirm- 
ing when  the  cook  cuts  it  in  pieces — but  all 
the  same  it  will  carry  death." 

"  Vampire  !  "  cried  Bayard  ;  "  beware  how 
you  carry  out  so  wicked  a  design,  for  unless 
you  swear  to  relinquish  it  at  once  I  will  warn 
the  Pope  of  his  danger." 

Actuated  by  his  uncontrollable  repulsion 
Bayard  struck  spurs  into  Carman's  side.  The 
horse  plunged,  Lupine  clung  to  the  stirrup  for 
an  instant,  striving  to  mount  behind  Bayard,  but 
Carman  trod  upon  her  foot  and  she  fell  back 
shrieking  curses  on  the  horse  and  his  rider  ; 
who  fled  as  though  pursued  by  the  arch  fiend. 


The  Fangs  of  Iron  cS; 

Bayard  never  saw  her  in  human  form  again, 
but  neither  he  nor  Carman  were  to  escape  her 
revenge. 

Ill 

With  the  patience  of  evil  fate  Lupine  waited 
her  opportunity.  It  came  through  an  accom- 
plice, the  blacksmith  of  Meillant,  who,  having 
nothing  more  to  do  at  the  chateau,  returned  to 
seek  his  fortune  in  his  native  land.  Lupine 
came  across  him,  and  together  they  planned 
a  scheme  which  enabled  Lupine  to  promise 
Bayard's  enemies  to  accomplish  his  death  at  a 
critical  moment. 

It  was  not  until  the  battle  of  Marignan  that 
Lupine's  agent  found  an  occasion  favorable 
for  his  purpose.  Bayard's  squire  had  been 
wounded,  and  on  the  eve  of  this  engagement 
the  blacksmith  asked  for  the  vacant  position. 

"  I  never  forget  a  face,"  mused  the  good 
knight.  "Where  have  I  seen  you  before?" 

"  It  was  at  Meillant,  noble  sir.  I  know  not 
only  the  duties  of  the  stable  but  I  can  shoe  a 
horse  as  well,  and  can  fasten  a  loose  rivet  in 
armour.  You  will  find  me  of  more  service 
than  you  wot." 

"  Then  see  that  my  Carman  is  well  ap- 
pointed, for  we  have  before  us  the  bloodiest 


88  Renaissance  Chateaux 

battle  of  the  campaign,  the  one  which  will  give 
us  Milan  again  or  drive  the  French  vanquished 
from  Italy." 

When  his  horse  was  brought  Bayard  no- 
ticed that  the  groom  had  given  him  two  reins. 
"  It  is  always  well  to  be  provided  for  emer- 
gencies," the  man  explained,  "  but  do  not 
use  the  red  reins  unless  the  others  fail  you. 
The  horse  is  bad  tempered  to-day,  so  I  have 
given  you  a  curb  bit  which  will  bring  him  to 
reason." 

The  red  reins  hung  loose  on  Carman's  neck 
and  he  trotted  forward  with  perfect  docility. 
Bayard's  post  was  an  important  one,  beside 
the  young  Francis  I.,  at  the  head  of  the  line. 
At  the  fiercest  moment  of  the  battle,  when 
they  were  charging  the  Swiss,  the  ordinary 
reins,  which  had  been  traitorously  cut  by  the 
groom,  gave  way,  and  Bayard  caught  at  the 
fatal  red  ones.  Instantly  Carman  seemed 
transformed  into  a  demon.  He  plunged, 
snorted,  planted  his  feet  together  and  leaped 
into  air,  then  finding  it  impossible  to  throw 
his  master,  he  attempted  to  turn  and  dash  to 
the  rear. 

This  was  exactly  what  had  been  calculated 
upon,  and  at  that  moment  Bayard  ran  the 
supreme  danger  of  leading  a  general  rout ; 


The  Fangs  of  Iron  89 

but  he  retained  sufficient  mastery  over  his 
horse  to  keep  his  head  pointed  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  foe.  The  Swiss  were  upon  them, 
and  Carman  repeated  his  Milan  exploit,  bolt- 
ing through  their  ranks,  exposing  his  master 
to  a  thousand  dangers,  as,  bounding,  kicking, 
and  rearing,  he  tore  madly  straight  through 
the  entire  battalion,  clearing  the  stone  wall  of 
a  vineyard  beyond,  and  finally  throwing  the 
brave  knight  into  a  ditch.  Bayard  sat  up, 
half  stunned.  Carman  was  lying  near  by,  with 
blood  flowing  from  his  mouth ;  the  knight 
believed  that  his  horse's  neck  was  broken.  He 
threw  off  his  heavy  armour  to  enable  him  to 
climb  from  the  ditch  and  ran  rapidly  across  an 
open  space  to  a  company  of  French  infantry, 
and  fought  with  them  on  foot  through  the  re- 
mainder of  the  day.  Night  brought  little 
cessation,  for  desultory  fighting  went  on  until 
daybreak,  when  Bayard  was  heard  crying  to 
the  artillerymen,  "  Give  them  a  volley,  all 
the  cannons  at  once  !  It  is  time  we  woke  up 
those  sleepy  Swiss."  His  high  spirits  were 
contagious  ;  a  fresh  horse  was  brought  him 
and  he  led  the  charge,  shouting,  "  Back, 
dirty  Swiss,  back  to  your  mountains  and  eat 
cheese ! " 

The  French  knights  followed  him  with  wild 


90  Renaissance  Chateaux 

hilarity,  and  the  enemy,  not  believing  it  pos- 
sible that  soldiers  could  laugh  unless  victory 
were  assured,  fled  in  wild  disorder. 

The  young  Francis,  carried  away  by  enthus- 
iasm, knelt  before  Bayard,  begging  to  be 
knighted  by  the  man  to  whom  the  victory  was 
due.  The  joyous  knight  declared  himself 
unworthy  such  high  honour,  but,  the  King  in- 
sisting, gave  him  the  accolade  with  that  de- 
bonnair  mingling  of  modesty  and  playfulness 
which  was  always  so  characteristic  and  so 
charming. 

"  '  Avail  it  as  much,'  he  cried,  '  as  if  I  were 
Roland  or  Oliver,  and  henceforward,  my  good 
sword,  be  guarded  as  a  relic  for  having  con- 
ferred upon  so  handsome  and  puissant  a  king 
the  order  of  chivalry.'  Whereupon  he  gave  two 
bounds  and  thrust  his  sword  into  the  sheath." 

The  French  had  cause  for  gaiety,  for  the 
battle  had  decided  the  campaign.  The  city 
and  duchy  of  Milan  were  won  for  the  French, 
and  none  could  foresee  that  Pavia  would  re- 
verse the  issue  of  that  day. 

In  the  evening,  when  the  last  wounded  man 
had  been  removed  from  the  field  of  battle, 
Bayard,  accompanied  by  his  faithful  Belabre, 

1  "  Les  Gestes  et  la  Vie  du  Chevalier  Bayard,"  by  Champier,  in 
the  A  rchiz'cs  curieiises  de  I '  Histoire  de  France. 


The  Fangs  of  Iron  91 

sought  for  his  armour.  They  were  lifting  it 
from  the  ditch  when  they  heard  a  whinny, 
and  at  a  little  distance  there  loomed  indis- 
tinctly in  the  dark  the  figure  of  a  horse. 

44  It  is  Carman  !"  Bayard  cried  joyfully,  and 
he  called  the  faithful  animal.  At  that  instant 
there  dashed  by  them  a  huge  grey  wolf.  The 
horse  gave  a  shrill  neigh  of  terror  and  pain 
and  bounded  away,  for  the  wolf  had  fastened, 
not  on  his  throat,  but  on  the  red  reins.  He 
did  not  run  far,  for  Belabre's  arquebus  was  at 
his  shoulder,  an  unerring  ball  sped  on  its  way, 
and  the  shaggy  monster  bit  the  dust. 

Carman  trotted  toward  them  ;  his  breast- 
plate was  covered  with  blood  and  blood  was 
trickling  from  his  mouth.  Belabre  lifted  a 
lighted  brand,  and  Bayard,  gently  forcing  open 
the  horse's  jaws,  uttered  a  cry  of  dismay  as  he 
saw  the  diabolical  engine  which  had  caused 
Carman's  strange  behaviour.  Framed  in  its 
visible  parts  like  an  ordinary  bit,  within  the 
mouth  it  was  an  instrument  of  the  most  cruel 
torture.  At  the  slightest  stricture  of  the  reins 
two  sharp  discs  revolved  and  lacerated  the 
roof  of  the  mouth  and  the  tongue,  while  at  the 
same  time  a  pair  of  iron  fangs  penetrated 
the  jaws.  Very  gently,  but  not  without  in- 
flicting pain,  Bayard  removed  the  bit,  and 


92  Renaissance  Chateaux 

Carman  was  fed  with  cooked  barley  until  his 
mouth  was  healed.  The  memory  of  the  an- 
guish which  he  had  endured  was  so  vivid  that 
he  would  never  after  suffer  a  bit  of  any  kind 
to  be  placed  between  his  teeth.  On  ordinary 
occasions  he  carried  his  master  without  other 
guidance  than  that  of  his  voice  and  the  press- 
ure of  his  knees,  but  he  was  thenceforth  ex- 
cused from  service  on  the  field  of  battle,  as  a 
veteran  well  deserving  his  pension. 

A  closer  examination  of  the  ground  by  day- 
light showed  no  carcass  or  other  signs  of  the 
wolf.  The  groom,  too,  had  disappeared,  but 
the  bit  remained  a  nine  days'  wonder  to  all  the 
army.  The  device  of  the  burning  mountain 
was  stamped  upon  it,  and  Bayard  on  the  occa- 
sion of  another  visit  to  Meillant  left  it  at  the 
chateau  of  Chaumont  Amboise. 

Bayard's  confessor  assured  him  that  relapsed 
Christians,  losing  their  souls  through  indulg- 
ence of  their  animal  passions,  could  at  will 
take  on  the  forms  of  the  brutes  which  they 
most  resembled,  until,  through  frequent  sinning, 
they  lost  all  likeness  to  humanity,  remaining 
for  ever  beasts.  So  Bayard  thought  it  not 
strange  that  Lupine  was  never  seen  again  in 
woman's  cruise,  but  that  often  he  was  haunted 

o 

by  her  wolfish  alias.     Whenever  he   saw  the 


The  Fangs  of  Iron  93 

phantom  it  foreboded  ill.  She  had  appeared 
before  he  was  wounded  at  Brescia,  limping  on 
three  paws,  for  one  foot  had  been  lamed  when 
Carman  trode  upon  it  near  St.  Felix.  He  saw 
her  in  his  delirium,  crouching  and  glaring  upon 
him  with  eyes  like  live  coals,  as  he  lay  dying  at 
Pavia ;  but  when  he  kissed  his  cross-hiked 
sword  she  vanished  for  ever,  and  he  passed 
through  the  shadowy  portal  cheerfully,  know- 
ing that  she  had  no  power  to  follow. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  CARDINAL'S  RELIQUARY 

I 

THE  LOST  RAPHAEL 

I  JEAN  GOUJON,  statuary  and  image- 
*;  cutter,  have  wrought  in  many  noble 
houses,  where  I  have  seen  famed  beauties,  but 
I  have  never  been  more  moved  to  admiration 
by  house  or  lady  than  by  the  chateau  of  Gail- 
Ion  (built  by  the  late  Cardinal  George  Amboise, 
whom  God  absolve  !),  and  by  the  winsome  face 
of  the  Princess  Jeanne  of  Aragon.  I  have  heard 
also  legends  enow,  but  the  chain  of  events 
which  tangled  chateau  and  lady  and  cardinal 
together,  and  which  came  to  my  knowledge  in 
the  surprising  manner  which  I  shall  now  re- 
count, would,  methinks,  in  the  mouth  of  a  bet- 
ter teller,  be  as  diverting  as  any. 

No  palace,  not  even  Fontainebleau,  was  such 
a  revelation  to  me  as  Gaillon.      It  was  more,— 
an  inspiration,  in  that  I  was  privileged  to  form 
my  ideals  from  its  art  at  that  early  period  when 

94 


The  Cardinal's  Reliquary  95 

the  mind  of  youth  is  most  impressionable,  and 
when  as  yet  I  had  seen  no  other  of  the  chateaux 
of  France.  I  was  working  in  the  church  of 
St.  Maclou  at  Rouen,  and,  having  carved 
with  acceptability  portions  of  the  doors  of  the 
porch,  I  was  retained  for  the  staircase  and  other 
ornament  about  the  organ.  As  yet  my  work 
in  the  church  had  been  in  wood,  and  I  had 
been  given  no  opportunity  to  show  what  I 
could  fashion  in  noble  marble,  the  true  medium 
of  the  sculptor.  But  in  the  autumn  of  the 
year  1541  Cardinal  George  Amboise  the  sec- 
ond, nephew  of  the  great  Cardinal  of  the  same 
name,  appeared  before  my  carving-bench  and 
commissioned  me  to  model  and  cut  the  heads 
for  the  statue  of  his  late  uncle  and  for  his  own, 
they  to  be  figured  on  their  tomb  in  the  cathe- 
dral of  Rouen.  It  was  a  great  responsibility 
for  a  young  man,  but  I  saw  in  it  a  chance  for 
fame,  and  my  heart  leapt  within  me.  That  I 
might  have  every  possible  advantage  his 
Eminence  invited  me  to  visit  at  the  chateau 
of  Gaillon,  there  to  study  his  own  face  and 
various  portraits  of  his  uncle,  and  so  prepare 
my  maqiiette  (or  model  in  wax)  of  the  features 
which  I  would  later  carve  in  more  enduring 
stone. 

This  was  my  introduction   to   that  famous 


96  Renaissance  Chateaux 

episcopal  palace  so  long  the  country-seat  of 
the  bishops  of  Rouen,  which  was  reconstructed 
and  beautified  between  1502  and  1510  by  the 
first  George  Amboise.  He  had  thought  to 
make  it  a  delicious  retreat  from  the  cares  of 
state,  when  in  his  declining  years  he  might 
be  permitted  to  give  up  the  prime-ministry  of 
the  kingdom.  For  eight  years  it  was  his 
pleasure  to  see  his  dream  take  shape,  and  he 
came  twelve  times  to  superintend  the  work, 
sending  generous  sums  of  money  and  all  the 
rich  gatherings  of  his  Italian  journeys  to  en- 
rich his  cherished  home.  But  Amboise  was  not 
to  be  allowed  to  withdraw  his  weary  hand  from 
the  helm  of  government  until  death  itself 
brought  him  his  release.  It  came  to  him  in 
the  midst  of  his  labours  with  but  little  warn- 
ing. Seized  in  Italy  while  at  the  height  of 
his  power  by  mortal  illness,  it  was  his  intense 
desire  to  be  carried  to  Gaillon  to  die.  With 
almost  superhuman  energy  he  dragged  himself 
to  Lyons,  but  here  death  overtook  him  and 
he  yielded  up  his  spirit,  not  joyfully,  as  a  saint 
who,  tired  of  earth,  goes  to  his  reward,  but  in 
bitterness  of  soul,  as  one  who  had  but  just 
found  out  the  meaning  of  life  and  had  begun 
to  live. 

Studying  the  portrait  from  which  I  was  to 


The  Cardinal's  Reliquary  97 

model  my  statue,  I  said  to  another  guest  who 
was  enjoying  the  hospitality  of  Gaillon,  that  I 
was  not  suprised  by  the  stainless  record  left 
by  this  great  man. 

"  The  record,"  he  replied,  "  is  one  that  any- 
one might  envy — if  it  were  deserved." 

I  felt  my  anger  rise  at  the  insinuation.  I 
had  not  liked  the  man  from  the  first,  but  now 
I  felt  vaguely  that  he  was  the  cold  and  pitiless 
enemy  of  the  good  Cardinal.  He  was  an 
Italian  ecclesiastic,  known  at  Gaillon  only  as 
Brother  Paul,  though  our  host  had  whispered 
in  my  ear  that  he  was  a  papal  legate  who 
had  come  to  the  Court  of  France  on  some 
secret  errand  of  importance,  and  that  he  was  a 
member  of  the  noble  family  of  Caraffa.  He 
had  expressed  a  desire  to  see  the  chateau  of 
George  Amboise,  and,  having  brought  a  letter 
of  introduction  from  the  King,  had  been 
hospitably  welcomed.  He  was  an  ascetic, 
who  believed  that  all  beautiful  things  were  of 

o 

the  devil,  and  whereas  I  was  filled  with  ad- 
miration for  the  riches  of  art  which  made  the 
chateau  a  museum  of  costly  curios,  he  would 
invariably  strive  by  some  innuendo  to  spoil  all 
my  pleasure  therein. 

George  Amboise  the  second   took   the  de- 

o 

light  which  a  small  man  always  feels  in  boasting 


98  Renaissance  Chateaux 

of  the  wealth  of  a  great  member  of  his  family, 
and  unconsciously  furnished  Caraffa  with  ma- 
terial for  cavil  by  showing  him  all  the  treasures 
acquired  by  his  uncle. 

He  would  have  us  note  the  Cardinal's  bed- 
room, hung  with  many  ells  of  velvet  from 
Genoa,  with  gold  fringes  made  at  Milan.  More 
than  hangings  of  embroidered  velvet  the 
Cardinal  affected  tapestries,  for  which  he  spent 
large  sums,  having  upwards  of  sixty  great 
pieces,  representing  verdure  and  personages 
and  beasts,  showing  forth  the  lives  of  the 
saints,  or  pictures  out  of  the  classics,  or  great 
compositions,  as  the  Siege  of  Rhodes,  with 
ships  and  architecture  and  other  pleasing  de- 
vices of  battles  and  hunting.  Every  room  was 
bedight  with  these  colourful  entertainments, 
giving  such  a  sense  of  cool  and  shadow,  rich- 
ness of  peacock  blues  and  leafy  greens  sub- 
dued by  greys  and  umbers  as  one  might  find 
in  the  heart  of  a  great  forest.  These  back- 
grounds threw  into  brilliant  relief  the  flaming 
copper  basins  and  flagons,  the  gold  and  silver 
services,  the  chalices  and  reliquaries,  and  the 
coffers  set  with  jewels  and  paintings  in  enamel 
which  loaded  many  buffets.  As  a  scholar, 
Amboise  had  still  greater  reason  for  pride 
in  his  uncle's  library,  for  it  numbered  one 


The  Cardinal's  Reliquary          99 

thousand  and  seventy-four  books,  breviaries, 
psalmodies,  missals,  and  suchlike,  with  the 
great  Bible  of  St.  Louis,  and  a  full  collection 
of  the  profane  Greek  and  Latin  authors  bought 
in  Venice,  which  the  Cardinal  would  never  have 
done  with  ornamenting,  for  he  had  kept  a  corps 
of  bookbinders  and  illuminators  constantly  at 
work,  himself  directing  their  labours,  saying 
that  his  books  were  his  chiefest  joy. 

Brother  Paul  objected  that  many  of  the 
books  were  profane  classics  and  said  that  the 
value  of  a  reliquary  consisted  not  in  the  gems 
with  which  it  was  adorned  but  the  relic  which 
it  enshrined.  He  had  heard,  he  said,  that  the 
Cardinal  possessed  a  small,  heart-shaped  reli- 
quary of  pure  gold  which  doubtless  enclosed 
some  specially  holy  thing,  as  one  of  the  thorns 
of  our  Saviour's  crown  or  a  bit  of  the  True 
Cross,  for  Amboise  was  known  to  wear  it  sus- 
pended by  a  chain  about  his  neck,  and  he 
would  have  given  much  to  see  this  relic. 

Our  host  regretted  that  he  could  not  grat- 
ify this  desire,  as  the  reliquary  in  question  had 
been  buried  with  his  uncle's  body.  There 
was  a  momentary  expression  of  disappoint- 
ment in  Brother  Paul's  face  but  it  was  suc- 
ceeded by  one  of  keen  satisfaction.  I  could 
not  compass  what  this  play  of  feature  might 


ioo  Renaissance  Chateaux 

signify,  but  that  it  was  evil  of  some  sort  I 
made  no  doubt. 

I  strove  to  avoid  him  or  to  forget  his  pre- 
sence in  study  of  the  art  treasures  of  the 
chateau.  I  spent  most  of  my  time,  when  not 
at  work,  in  the  little  chapel  enjoying  the  fres- 
cos of  Da  Vinci's  pupil,  Andrea  Solario,  and 
in  contemplation  of  that  most  admirable  bas- 
relief  of  the  sculptor  of  Tours,  Michele 
Colombe,  which  figures  the  contest  of  St. 
George  and  the  Dragon  and,  framed  with  fair 
pilasters,  forms  the  frontal  of  the  altar.  One 
morning  while  I  was  wrapt  in  thought  how  I 
might  emulate  him,  Brother  Paul  disturbed 
my  contemplation. 

"  Always  St.  George  and  the  Dragon  ! "  he 
said.  "  I  am  filled  with  disgust  at  the  paucity 
of  invention  of  the  artists  who  laboured  for 
our  friend  the  Cardinal." 

"St.  George  was  his  patron  saint,"  I  re- 
plied. "  It  was  but  natural  that  his  Eminence 
should  wish  to  do  him  honour." 

"  But  natural !  Yes,  since  in  so  doing  he 
proclaimed  himself  a  hero  like  his  patron. 
One  understands  the  presence  of  the  dragon 
and  the  glorification  of  George  in  this  palace  ; 
but  the  lady?  Why  should  our  saintly  Per- 
seus flaunt  his  championship  of  a  lady  ?" 


.3  ~ 


"«          W 

C      c 


The  Cardinal's  Reliquary          101 

"  The  answer  is  self-evident,"  I  cried.  "  She 
is  but  the  emblem  of  weakness  oppressed  in 
any  fashion,  whose  cause  George  Amboise 
was  always  prompt  to  aid." 

"  And  think  you  that  there  was  no  lady 
actual?"  he  sneered.  "Then  you  know  little 
of  the  doings  of  Amboise  in  Italy,  little  even 
of  the  secrets  of  this  very  house." 

"  What  are  they  ? "  I  asked  imperiously. 
"  You  have  insinuated  too  much,  Paul  Caraffa, 
not  to  make  your  meaning  plain." 

"  I  do  not  know  by  what  right  you  demand 
an  explanation,"  he  replied  scornfully. 

"  If  I  have  no  right,  our  host  has,  and  he 
shall  make  you  speak,"  I  answered. 

"  He  shall  know  in  good  time,"  the  legate 
replied  coldly,  "  but  that  you  may  spare  him 
premature  pain  I  will  tell  you  why  I  am  here. 
The  Holy  Office  is  about  to  be  established  in 
Naples,  and  our  prelates  have  given  such 
cause  of  reproach  by  their  loose  lives  that 
they  are  directly  responsible  for  the  spread  of 
heretical  opinions.  Our  whole  Church  body 
is  cankered  by  foul  ulcers  which  can  only  be 
cured  by  fire.  George  Amboise  was  a  heretic 
and  a  libertine,  and  his  partner  in  crime  was 
Giovanna  of  Aragon,  now  the  wife  of  Prince 
Ascanio  Colonna." 


102  Renaissance  Chateaux 

"  Impossible  !"  I  murmured.  "  You  are  mis- 
taken." 

"What  do  you  know  of  the  matter?"  he 
snapped.  "  I  tell  you  I  have  all  my  proofs,  or 
will  have  before  I  leave  the  place.  The  Colon- 
nas  have  ever  been  at  feud  with  my  family. 
They  brave  me  arrogantly,  but  when  I  return 
to  Italy  I  shall  be  in  a  position  to  demand  the 
letters  which  Amboise  wrote  Giovanna,  which 
I  know  to  be  in  the  possession  of  her  husband's 
sister,  Vittoria  Colonna.  She  kept  them  doubt- 
less to  hold  the  whip-hand  in  her  family,  but 
they  are  two-edged  weapons  and  will  bring  all 
of  that  proud  house  to  shame.  Ascanio 
Colonna  shall  be  humbled  to  the  dust,  for  the 
wife  whom  he  now  adores  shall  be  burned  like 
a  witch,  with  the  dead  body  of  her  lover.  It 
is  not  the  first  time  that  the  dead  have  been 
summoned  to  earthly  judgment.  The  corpse 
of  Cardinal  Amboise  will  appear  before  the 
Inquisition,  will  be  tried,  condemned,  and 
publicly  burned,  chained  to  his  living  accom- 
plice. Trouble  not  yourself  to  carve  his  tomb. 
Cardinal  Amboise  was  himself  a  whited  sepul- 
chre, but  I  have  a  keen  scent  for  such  carrion, 
and  will  drag  the  noisome  thing  from  its  hiding- 
place.  His  nephew,  who  is  now  so  vain  of  his 
uncle  that  he  would  have  their  bones  rot  to* 


The  Cardinal's  Reliquary          103 

gether  in  a  tabernacle  of  costly  marbles  where 
their  own  effigies  will  kneel  in  pleasant  neigh- 
bourhood to  saints  and  virtues  jumbled  with 
satyrs  and  nymphs, — his  nephew  did  I  say  ?— 
his  whole  family  will  desire  nothing  so  fervently 
as  that  the  world  may  forget  that  George 
Amboise  ever  existed." 

His  mania  subsided,  or  rather  took  another 
form.  The  fire  which  had  leapt  to  his  eyes 
died  out. — "  All  this  seems  to  you  mere  raving. 
Let  me  state  the  facts  calmly.  Are  you  famil- 
iar with  the  latter  part  of  the  career  of  George 
Amboise?  Let  me  refresh  your  memory. 
He  was  commissioned  by  Louis  XII.  to  treat 
concerning  all  matters  as  though  he  were  the 
King  in  his  own  person.  It  was  unlimited 
power,  inconceivable  confidence,  and  it  is  the 
common  belief  that  it  was  not  betrayed.  Let 
us  see  whether  that  belief  is  justified.  Louis 
had  determined  to  retake  the  kingdom  of 
Naples  which  Charles  VIII.  had  won  and 
lost.  It  was  governed  by  Frederick  of  Aragon, 
but  it  was  coveted  by  his  cousin  Ferdinand, 
King  of  Spain.  That  monarch,  hearing  of  the 
designs  of  the  King  of  France,  invited  him, 
jointly  with  the  Pope,  to  a  secret  conference, 
wherein  a  treaty  was  concluded  by  which  the 
kingdom  of  Naples  was  divided  between 


ic>4  Renaissance  Chateaux 

France  and  Spain.  The  unfortunate  King 
Frederick  attempted  at  first  to  hold  his  own 
against  this  coalition  but  finally  surrendered  to 
the  King  of  France,  and  even  preferred  to 
seek  an  asylum  with  him  rather  than  with  his 
perfidious  cousin. 

"There  was  living  in  Naples  at  this  time, 
with  her  mother,  who  was  an  Italian  woman, 
an  illegitimate  daughter  of  Ferdinand,  reputed 
to  be  the  most  beautiful  girl  in  the  peninsula. 
She  was  so  favoured  by  her  doting  father  that 
she  was  allowed  to  flaunt  her  parentage  and 
to  proclaim  herself  as  Giovanna  (or,  as  you  call 
the  name  in  French,  Jeanne)  of  Aragon. 

"  When  the  French  army  occupied  Naples 
Ferdinand  endeavoured  to  curry  favour  with 
Cardinal  Amboise  by  confiding  Giovanna  to 
his  guardianship. 

"  Louis  XII.,  on  hearing  of  this,  ordered 
that  she  should  be  brought  to  France  with  the 
family  of  the  deposed  King  Frederick,  to  dwell 
at  his  Court  as  hostage  for  the  good  faith  of 
his  slippery  ally.  How  did  the  Cardinal  fulfil 
this  very  simple  trust  ?  Did  Giovanna  ever 
go  to  France,  where  everyone  was  eager  to 
give  her  a  brilliant  reception  ?  The  young 
Duke  of  Valois,  now  King  Francis  I.,  had 
heard  of  her  beauty  and  commissioned  Raphael 


The  Cardinal's  Reliquary         105 

to  paint  her  portrait.  Where  is  the  portrait  ? 
We  know  that  it  was  delivered  to  Cardinal 
Amboise,  but  neither  portrait  nor  lady  was 
ever  seen  at  the  Court  of  France.  I  believe 
that  the  Cardinal  intended  to  hide  both  at 
Gaillon.  He  was  buying  objects  of  art  on 
every  hand  for  the  enrichment  of  this  chateau. 
Why  this  sudden  prodigality  of  luxury  when 
all  his  life  he  had  lived  simply  ?  Do  you  sup- 
pose that  Giovanna  would  have  remained  in 
Naples  if  the  Cardinal  had  not  died  so  sud- 
denly ?  I  tell  you  that  he  was  fitting  up  for 
her  a  secret  bower,  which  I  have  discovered  in 
this  palace. 

"  One  thing  more.  The  pest  of  heresy  has 
broken  out  in  France  since  the  time  of  Cardinal 
Amboise.  No  whisper  against  his  orthodoxy 
has  ever  been  uttered,  but  think  you  there  was 
no  atheism  in  Italy,  no  unbelief,  before  the 
time  of  Luther  ?  It  came  in  with  the  revival 
of  classic  learning,  with  the  very  books  with 
which  the  library  of  George  Amboise  is  filled. 
It  existed  in  Naples  at  the  time  of  which  I 
speak,  and  the  house  of  Fabrizio  Colonna  was 
the  hotbed  of  the  new  doctrine.  There  is 
every  reason  why  Cardinal  Amboise  should 
have  had  nothing  to  do  with  that  house.  The 
Colonnas  were  Spanish  in  politics.  F"abrizio 


io6  Renaissance  Chateaux 

himself  was  Grand  Constable  of  the  Spanish 
forces  and  rescued  Pope  Julius  II.  when  Charles 
Chaumont  Amboise,  the  Cardinal's  nephew, 
had  him  shut  up  in  Bologna.  Fabrizio's 
daughter  Vittoria  was  the  wife  of  the  Marquis 
de  Pescara,  who  was  also  a  general  in  the 
Spanish  army.  What  sympathy  or  friendship 
could  there  have  been  between  them  ?  This 
is  my  answer  :  The  Colonnas  were  friends  of 
Giovanna's,  and  later  Giovanna  married  As- 
canio,  the  brother  of  Vittoria.  The  Cardinal 
visited  them  because  he  met  the  beautiful  girl 
at  their  villa,  and,  later,  he  too  became  in- 
fected with  the  pernicious  heresy  of  which  the 
Colonnas  are  now  the  leaders  in  Italy. 

"  Vittoria  Colonna  is  one  of  the  strongest 
minds,  the  ablest,  and  for  that  reason  the  most 
dangerous,  woman  in  Italy.  She  fascinated 
the  Cardinal  intellectually  just  as  Giovanna's 
beauty  moved  him.  He  wrote  Giovanna  in  her 
care,  and  when  I  shall  have  possession  of  these 
letters  and  of  a  certain  reliquary  belonging  to 
the  Cardinal,  I  shall  have  all  the  evidence  I 
need.  And  first  the  reliquary  \vill  put  me  in 
possession  of  the  lost  portrait  of  Giovanna,  for 
when  Amboise  knew  that  the  time  had  come 
for  him  to  die  the  thing  which  he  strove  most 
desperately  to  do  was  to  return  to  this  place, 


The  Cardinal's  Reliquary         107 

doubtless  that  he  might  destroy  the  portrait. 
Why  am  I  so  certain  of  this  ?  Because  a  hos- 
pitaller, who  tended  him  as  he  lay  dying  at 
Lyons,  learned  from  his  conscience-smitten 
crying  that  he  had  loved  and  served  a  mortal 
more  than  his  Creator,  and  as  he  bemoaned 
his  sin  his  hands  constantly  fingered  a  small 
golden  reliquary  suspended  by  a  chain  about 
his  neck  and  hidden  in  his  breast.  After  the 
Cardinal's  death  the  hospitaller  opened  this 
reliquary,  expecting  to  find  therein  the  face  for 
which  the  Cardinal  had  bartered  his  soul,  but 
it  contained  only  a  key,  which  Brother  John 
replaced,  and,  as  you  heard  his  nephew  say, 
the  reliquary  was  buried  with  him.  And  now 
you  shall  know  why  I  have  told  you  this  story. 
You  have  been  engaged  to  carve  the  Cardinal's 
monument,  and  will  have  measurements  to 
take,  perhaps  other  work  to  do  about  the  tomb. 
It  will  be  perfectly  possible  for  you  to  have 
the  slab  lifted  and  to  possess  yourself  of  the 
reliquary  and  the  key." 

"Never!"  I  exclaimed,  indignantly;  "  you 
may  do  your  ghoulish  work  for  yourself,  for 
never  will  I  be  so  base  as  to  rifle  a  tomb  to 
destroy  the  reputation  of  the  dead." 

Brother  Paul's  face  grew  dark  with  anger. 
"Your  advice  is  crood,"  he  said.  "It  were 


io8  Renaissance  Chateaux 

better  for  me  take  that  reliquary  from  its  hid- 
ing-place myself,  with  unquestioned  authority, 
and  in  the  presence  of  reliable  witnesses.  Rest 
you  assured  that  I  will  do  so,  and  that  when  I 
have  possessed  myself  of  that  key  not  a  lock 
in  this  chateau  shall  remained  untried  and  the 
Cardinal's  idol  will  be  discovered." 

This  slanderous  story  of  Brother  Paul's  so 
disturbed  me  that  I  was  unable  to  work.  I  had 
not  as  yet  seen  Jeanne  of  Aragon  and  I  knew  not 
how  pure  of  soul  she  was,  but  my  whole  being 
protested  against  the  visitation  of  such  a  fate 
as  this  upon  any  woman,  no  matter  how  sinful. 

In  spite  of  my  disbelief  of  Caraffa's  story, 
the  features  of  the  Cardinal,  as  I  strove  to 
model  them,  took  on  a  sinster  expression,  and 
for  the  moment  I  gave  up  the  statue  in  despair 
and  strove  to  find  relief  in  other  occupation. 
The  chateau  was  richer  in  sculpture  than  in 
painting,  and  among  the  statues  was  one  of 
Louis  XII.  by  Lorenzo  de  Mugiano  which  the 
King  had  caused  to  be  made  in  Milan.  It  was 
not  a  flattering  portrait,  for  it  had  been  carved 
when  age  and  illness  had  marked  the  royal 
face  with  deep  lines.  Yet  it  had  such  a  living 
personality  that  for  my  own  pleasure  I  made 
a  sketch  of  the  profile  with  charcoal,  wotting 
little  to  what  service  I  would  put  it. 


The  Cardinal's  Reliquary         109 

But  nowhere  could  1  escape  the  Italian  spy. 
He  passed  through  every  room,  scrutinising  the 
keyholes  in  the  doors  of  the  oaken  cupboards 
which  lined  the  walls,  and  the  sight  of  his 
evil,  persistent  face  never  failed  to  throw  me 
into  a  nervous  chill.  At  length  I  could  endure 
it  no  longer  and  I  begged  my  host  to  grant 
me  some  secret  retreat  where  I  might  labour 
in  absolute  seclusion,  secure  from  the  inter- 
ruption of  chance  visitors. 

"  I  can  understand  your  feeling,"  said  the 
Cardinal,  "  and  the  chateau  for  the  next  week 
will  be  full  of  commotion  and  excitement,  for 
his  Majesty  King  Francis  is  at  Rouen  and 
has  signified  his  intention  to  honour  me  with 
a  brief  visit.  He  will  brino;  but  a  limited 

£j 

suite,  but  enough  to  throw  the  service  of  the 
chateau  into  a  panic.  If  you  wish  quiet,  you 
must  leave  the  main  buildino- ;  but  I  have  the 

o    ' 

very  spot  for  you,  my  uncle's  hermitage,  to 
which  he  was  accustomed  to  retire  when  for 
study  or  devotion  he  wished  to  be  absolutely 
alone." 

My  considerate  patron  led  me  down  the 
terraced  slope,  and  up  the  steep  opposite 
height.  At  the  very  top  we  found  the  hermit's 
cell,  for  it  was  no  more,  which  was  the  favour- 
ite abode  of  George  Amboise.  Only  one 


no  Renaissance  Chateaux 

spacious  room,  without  tapestries  or  carpets, 
and  with  so  little  furnishing  that  it  seemed 
larger  than  it  was  and  as  though  a  great  wind 
had  swept  it  bare.  There  was  a  truckle-bed, 
a  table,  ink-splashed,  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  a  hard  wooden  chair  beside  it,  and  high 
upon  one  wall  The  Crucified  upon  an  ebony 
cross.  That  was  absolutely  all,  and  the  floor 
before  the  crucifix  was  worn  where  the  good 
man  had  knelt  in  prayer.  From  the  chair 
beside  the  table  one  looked  through  a  window 
in  the  opposite  direction  from  the  chateau 
across  a  wild,  solitary  landscape  of  wooded 
hills,  the  great  park  of  Gaillon,  with  no  human 
habitation  in  sight  save  a  beautiful  white  villa 
on  the  slope  of  the  hill. 

"  You  will  surely  be  sufficiently  alone  here," 
said  Amboise.  "  No  one  has  ever  occupied 
this  hermitage  except  my  uncle  and  the 
painter  Solario,  who  also  demanded  solitude, 
and  spent  a  season  here  in  my  uncle's  absence. 
See,  here  are  some  of  his  tools,"  arid  Amboise 
opened  a  small  closet ;  "  you  may  clear  away 
these  colours  and  brushes  and  I  will  send  over 
your  materials,  and  if  you  require  anything 
you  have  only  to  command  the  page  who 
serves  you." 

I    asked  to    have    the    portrait    of    George 


The  Cardinal's  Reliquary         1 1 1 

Amboise  sent  me,  and  when  it  arrived  I 
studied  it  until  the  light  failed.  I  retired 
early,  and  cannot  tell  how  long  I  slept,  but 
I  was  awakened  as  it  seemed  to  me  by  the 
sound  of  voices.  I  opened  my  eyes  quickly. 
The  room  was  flooded  with  moonlight  and  I 

o 

saw  the  figure  of  George  Amboise  the  elder 
standing  by  the  table.  I  told  myself  that  I 
must  be  mistaken,  that  what  I  saw  was  the 
portrait  semblance;  but  no,  beyond,  or  through, 
this  standing  figure  I  could  still  see  the  frame 
of  the  picture  leaning  in  its  former  position. 
The  figure  crossed  the  room  slowly  and  sank 
upon  its  knees  before  the  crucifix.  Then  I 
saw,  to  my  wonder,  that  the  picture-frame  was 
empty.  This  kneeling  man  was  indeed  only 
the  portrait,  but  the  portrait  come  to  life.  I 
sat  up  in  bed  and  looked  keenly  at  the  master- 
ful face  lifted  in  devotion  ;  as  I  studied  it 
the  artist  in  me  triumphed  over  my  wonder 
at  the  strangeness  of  the  circumstance  and  I 
was  filled  to  the  finger-tips  with  tingling  eager- 
ness to  model  George  Amboise  and  bid  him 
kneel  for  ever  in  the  great  cathedral  as  he 
knelt  there.  As  I  looked,  there  was  a  sharp 
click  and  two  panels  flew  open,  disclosing,  set 
in  a  shallow  closet  in  the  wall,  the  portrait  of 
a  radiant  woman.  I  knew  from  the  matchless 


1 1 2  Renaissance  Chateaux 

grace  of  the  painting,  from  the  great  flow- 
ing curves  in  the  sumptuous  velvet  gown, 
and  from  the  quiet  majesty  of  the  pose, 
that  this  was  the  lost  portrait  which  Raphael 
painted  ;  but  there  was  in  its  delicate  distinc- 
tion an  individuality  which  proved  that  this 
was  no  ideal  creation  of  the  painter's,  but  the 
faithful  presentation  of  an  actual  human  being, 
nay,  that  it  was  no  portrait  after  all,  but  the 
living  lady.  There  was  a  calm  tranquillity  in 
the  thoughtful  face  which  bespoke  an  eleva- 
tion without  haughtiness  which  compelled  my 
worship,  while  there  was  something  which 
appealed  to  every  instinct  of  protection  in  the 
sweet,  confiding,  and  frank  friendliness  of  the 
gentle  eyes.  Presently  the  lady  raised  one 
shapely  hand  and  with  a  gesture  ineffably 
graceful  waved  the  Cardinal  a  greeting  which 
was  at  the  same  time  a  farewell.  He  rose 
from  his  knees,  closed  the  doors,  and  locked 
them  with  a  key  which  he  took  from  his 
bosom.  Then  I  lost  consciousness.  When  I 
awakened  it  was  broad  daylight  and  a  servant 
was  laying  my  breakfast  on  the  table.  The 
Cardinal's  portrait  was  safely  back  in  its  frame, 
and,  as  I  glanced  furtively  at  the  blank  wall, 
I  saw  that  my  vision  of  the  night  must  have 
been  a  dream.  I  fell  to  work  at  my  modelling 


The  ^Cardinal's  Reliquary         113 

with  more  success  than  I  had  hitherto  attained. 
It  may  be  that  my  brain  in  its  unconscious 
night  labours  had  evolved  from  the  memory 
of  the  portrait  a  happy  conception  of  the 
Cardinal's  face  ;  certain  it  is  that  I  experienced 
one  of  those  rare  moments  of  inspiration  and 
worked  successfully  and  rapidly  until  noon, 
when  my  food  was  again  brought  me.  Then 
I  stood  off,  regarding  what  I  had  done,  weary 
but  exultant,  for  I  knew  that  I  had  succeeded. 
As  I  rested  in  the  afternoon,  I  had  to  con- 
fess that  my  success  was  due  to  my  dream  ; 
a  manifestly  absurd  dream  too,  for  I  did  not 
believe  that  the  portrait  of  Jeanne  d'Aragon 
was  hidden  anywhere  at  Gaillon.  Certainly 
not  here,  in  that  solid  wall,  and  I  walked  to 
the  spot  where  I  had  fancied  I  saw  it, 
and  knocked  on  the  panelling.  Instantly  I 
experienced  a  slight  shock,  for  it  seemed  to 
me  that  the  wall  sounded  hollow.  No  matter  ; 
there  was  no  sign  of  doors,  no  keyhole  into 
which  the  prying  Brother  Paul  could  insert 
the  key,  provided  he  found  it.  Not  so  fast ! 
there  was  the  slightest,  narrowest  crevice  run- 
ning straight  down  the  centre  of  the  panel 
beneath  the  crucifix,  and,  just  at  the  height 
of  my  eye,  a  spot  not  so  dark  as  the  sur- 
rounding woodwork.  Out  came  my  knife 


ii4  Renaissance  Chateaux 

and  I  dug  feverishly  at  this  spot,  till,  with  a 
slight  thud,  there  fell  to  the  floor  a  hardened 
plug  of  wax,  and  the  keyhole  which  it  had 
rilled  was  discovered. 

I  doubted  not  what  was  hidden  behind  the 
panels.  My  vision  of  the  night  was  no  dream 
but  a  revelation. 

One  thought  possessed  me, — I  must  secure 
the  key  in  the  Cardinal's  reliquary  ;  not  at  all 
that  I  wished  to  open  the  closet,  but  to  pre- 
vent Brother  Paul  from  doing  so.  Avoiding 
the  chateau  I  rushed  to  the  village  of  Gaillon. 
Here  I  hired  a  horse  and  rode  to  Rouen.  I 
left  my  beast  at  an  inn  near  the  cathedral, 
and  went  at  once  to  the  Cardinal's  tomb  in 
the  Chapel  of  the  Virgin.  How  glad  I  was 
that  the  heavy  kneeling  statues  on  which  I 
was  at  work  were  not  yet  in  place  !  The  lid 
of  the  sarcophagus  was  a  simple  slab  of  black 
marble  which  I  was  confident  that  I  could  lift. 
What  was  my  despair  when  I  saw  that  the 
slab  had  already  been  removed,  and  the  tomb 
was  covered  by  a  pall,  while  some  workmen 
were  bringing  in  a  wooden  case. 

The  verger  of  the  cathedral,  who  was  watch- 
ing the  workmen,  told  me  that  the  tomb  had 
been  unsealed  that  morning  by  the  royal  order 
and  in  the  presence  of  the  King  and  a  company 


The  Cardinal's  Reliquary         115 

of  noble  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  that  a  priest 
had  removed  from  the  Cardinal's  breast  a 
heart-shaped  locket  which  he  had  handed  to 
the  King.  Francis  had  opened  this  and  had 
taken  from  it  a  key.  This  discovery  had  been 
greeted  by  many  "  Ohs  !  "  and  "  Ahs  !  "  and 
thereafter  the  entire  party  had  mounted  on 
horseback  and  in  litters  and  set  out  for 
Gaillon. 

"  I  fear  me,  Jean  Goujon,"  the  verger 
added  condescendingly,  "  that  you  have  lost 
your  luck,  for  the  priest  who  ordered  this  case 
to  be  sent  to  the  chapel  told  me  to  have  the 
Cardinal's  body  placed  in  it,  as  it  was  to  be 
removed  to  Italy." 

"You  will  not  dare  to  touch  his  venerated 
ashes,"  I  cried,  "  without  an  order  from  his 
nephew,  or  from  the  King.  Let  these  men 
replace  the  slab,  and  on  your  life  obey  no 
commands  issued  by  that  priest."  So  saying, 
I  rode  madly  back,  cursing  myself  that  I  was 
too  late  to  foil  Brother  Paul.  It  was  evening, 
and  forty  long  miles  lay  between  me  and  Gail- 
lon ;  but  I  knew  that  the  royal  cortege  had  not 
much  the  start  and  that  I  might  reach  the 
chateau  almost  as  soon.  Gradually  the  night 
air  cooled  my  brain,  and  I  reasoned  that  it 
would  be  so  late  when  they  arrived  that 


n6  Renaissance  Chateaux 

nothing  would  be  done  that  night.  I  comforted 
myself  that  Brother  Paul  had  not  yet  discov- 
ered the  closet  in  the  hermitage.  A  wild  re- 
solve sprang  up  in  my  heart  to  pry  open  the 
doors  and  destroy  the  picture. 

I  rode  all  night,  reaching  Gaillon  in  the  early 
dawn.  Everything  was  as  I  had  left  it,  except 
that  my  untouched  supper  stood  upon  the  table. 
I  looked  in  Solario's  colour-box  for  some  tool 
with  which  to  burst  open  the  panels,  but  I 
found  only  a  palette  knife  and  a  small  file. 
I  could  insert  the  blade  of  the  knife  in  the 
crack,  but  it  was  too  flexible  to  pry  open  the 
door.  Then  I  hesitated.  If  I  burst  open 
the  woodwork  the  splintered  panel  would  tell 
the  story,  and  how  was  I  to  destroy  the  picture, 
since  there  was  no  fireplace  in  which  it  could  be 
burned  ?  If  I  cut  it  into  shreds  what  could  I  do 
with  them  ?  If  hidden  in  the  bushes,  if  buried, 
they  might  still  be  found.  I  began  to  hope  that, 
after  all,  there  was  no  painting  secreted  here  ; 
that  perhaps  Brother  Paul  might  not  discover 
the  keyhole.  I  picked  up  the  plug  of  wax  and 
fitted  it  again  into  its  place.  A  little  of  So- 
lario's colour  would  darken  it  so  that  it  would 
not  be  so  noticeable,  and  as  I  looked  over  his 
packages  of  paint  I  decided  not  to  burst  open 
the  doors.  I  was  too  excited  to  sleep,  and  I 


The  Cardinal's  Reliquary         u; 

worked  feverishly  until  night  and  then  fell  in 
a  faint  across  the  bed. 

I  had  no  visions  ;  only  a  blank  of  utter 
exhaustion,  and  when  I  came  out  of  it  there 
were  voices  again,  but  real  ones,  in  the 
room.  Brother  Paul  was  there,  and  George 
Amboise,  the  latter  expostulating,  pleading, 
assuring  the  Italian  that  no  such  painting 
had  ever  been  seen  in  the  chateau.  Brother 
Paul  made  no  answer,  but  walked  around 
the  room,  sounding  the  walls.  Presently  he 
came  to  the  panels  beneath  the  crucifix,  and 
my  heart  stuck  in  my  throat.  Then  at  the 
first  resounding  blow  with  which  he  struck 
it  the  traitorous  bit  of  shrunken  wax  leaped 
from  the  keyhole  to  the  floor.  Brother 
Paul's  face  lighted  with  the  joy  that  Michael 
Angelo  depicts  on  the  faces  of  the  devils  that 
seize  their  victims  in  his  marvellous  Last  Judg- 
ment. He  lifted  the  key  which  he  held  ready 
in  his  hand,  but  he  did  not  fit  it  in  the  lock. 
"  We  must  have  witnesses,"  he  said  ;  "  the 
King  shall  open  the  hiding  place.  We  will 
stay  here  to  watch  each  other  that  no  foul  play 
is  done,  and  yonder  statuary  shall  announce  to 
His  Majesty  that  his  game  is  ready." 

I  went  on  my  errand  with  no  willing  mind, 
praying  Madonna  Mary  to  work  a  miracle  and 


n8  Renaissance  Chateaux 

save  the  Princess  and  the  Cardinal  from  evil. 
I  found  the  King  and  his  courtiers  in  the 
outer  court  of  the  chateau,  and  I  gave  my 
message  : 

"  The  Cardinal  requests  your  Majesty's  pre- 
sence in  his  uncle's  hermitage,  at  the  top  of 
yonder  hill,  where  Brother  Paul  fancies  he  has 
discovered  some  mighty  secret." 

"  And  has  Brother  Paul  at  last  really  found 
the  picture  ?  "  asked  the  King.  "  I  began  to 
fear  that  he  had  led  us  on  a  false  scent." 

Madame  de  Breze,  the  beautiful  Diane  de 
Poitiers,  with  the  Dauphin,  Prince  Henri,  and 
all  the  ladies  and  gallants  came  trooping  at  the 
King's  call,  all  full  of  curiosity  and  delight 
that  a  mystery  was  about  to  be  revealed,  and 
all  eager  to  tear  to  tatters  the  reputation  of 
Jeanne  of  Aragon.  How  they  laughed  and 
chattered,  and  how  blithely  they  ran  up  the 
rocky  steep,  so  that  the  King  came  panting 
last  of  all ! 

"  And  is  this  the  famous  palace  of  love 
which  you  have  discovered  ? "  he  grumbled  to 
Brother  Paul.  "  By  my  faith  !  the  place  itself 
refutes  your  accusation." 

"  If  your  Majesty  will  take  the  trouble  to 
look  from  the  window,"  said  Caraffa,  "  you  will 
see  a  hermitage  of  quite  another  character." 


The  Cardinal's  Reliquary          119 

"  Even  that  villa,"  objected  the  King,  "  is 
no  secret  bower  for  a  fair  lady.  Though  but 
a  slip  of  a  boy,  I  knew  better  the  setting 
worthy  such  a  jewel  when  I  built  my  chateau 
of  Chambord,  and  Trinqueau  contrived  its 
secret  staircases  so  cunningly  that  I  had  the 
entree  of  twenty  apartments  without  possi- 
bility of  discovery  ;  while  this  hiding  is  so 
clumsy  that  the  presence  of  the  villa  is  rather 
proclaimed  than  concealed." 

"  I  crave  the  permission  of  your  Majesty  to 
speak,"  cried  George  Amboise.  "  I  know,  of 
a  certainty,  that  yonder  hunting-lodge  was  be- 
gun by  my  uncle  as  a  retreat  for  the  late  King, 
Louis  XII.,  when,  wearied  with  living  per- 
petually in  the  public  eye,  he  longed  for  a 
short  time  to  refresh  himself  by  complete  re- 
tirement. Here  he  could  amuse  himself  with 
hunting  and  hawking,  as  he  was  wont  to  do 
with  my  uncle  in  the  forest  of  Chaumont  when 
they  were  boys  together.  My  uncle  began  to 
build  it  during  the  King's  illness,  but  it  was 
never  occupied,  never  even  finished." 

"A  not  unlikely  story,"  the  King  replied 
musingly.  "  I  have  myself  hunted  at  Chaumont. 
I  know  that  both  the  Cardinal  and  my  father- 
in-law,  King  Louis,  loved  forestry,  and  how 
attached  they  were  to  each  other.  I  can  see 


120  Renaissance  Chateaux 

from  this  distance  that  the  building  of  the  lodge 
was  interrupted.  I  fear,  Caraffa,  that  your  the- 
ory that  the  Princess  lived  here  is  disproved." 

"  I  never  maintained  that  the  Princess  came 
to  France,"  Brother  Paul  protested.  "  I  claim 
only  that  yonder  villa  was  intended  for  her, 
and  that  George  Amboise  no  more  had  his 
King  in  view  when  he  built  it  than  when  he 
lamented  on  his  death-bed  that  he  had  loved 
some  human  being  more  than  his  own  soul. 
I  stake  the  truth  of  my  charges  on  the  evid- 
ence which  you  will  find  secreted  behind 
these  doors."  Caraffa  was  playing  his  last 
card,  but  so  confident  was  he  that  he  made 
no  provision  for  possible  failure.  I  almost 
suspected  that  he  had  visited  the  room  in  my 
absence  and  knew  whereof  he  spoke,  as  he 
cried  triumphantly,  "  You  will  find  here  the 
idol  for  which  that  pleasure-palace  was  reared, 
the  mortal  whom  Amboise  worshipped." 

Brother  Paul's  vehemence  was  so  withering 
that  Diane  de  Poiters  and  the  Dauphin 
shrank  before  it,  and  stood  apart  in  awed 
silence.  But  nothing  could  shame  the  gallant 
Francis. 

"  The  Princess  must  have  been  beautiful 
indeed,  to  compel  such  devotion,"  he  laughed. 
"  What  I  reproach  the  Cardinal  with,  is  not 


The  Cardinal's  Reliquary         121 

that  he  was  man  enough  to  feel  her  charm, 
but  that  he  robbed  me  of  the  possession  of 
such  an  incomparable  pearl.  Had  the  Car- 
dinal lived  he  would  have  had  to  answer  to 
me  for  that  theft,  and  he  would  also  have  had 
to  deliver  up  the  portrait  which  was  placed  in 
his  care  to  bring  to  me.  I  have  to  thank  you, 
Brother  Paul,  for  its  discovery." 

With  that  he  inserted  the  key  in  the  lock 
and  the  doors  flew  open.  It  was  a  critical 
moment.  Neither  the  legate  nor  I  looked  to 
see  what  the  shrine  disclosed.  We  were  cer- 
tain of  that,  and  were  more  intensely  concerned 
as  to  how  the  revelation  would  be  received. 

The  room  had  been  very  still,  but  now  a 
sudden  shout  of  derision  and  laughter  rose 
from  the  huddled  courtiers.  King  Francis 
roared  until  he  wept.  "  Out  upon  you,  Paul 
Caraffa  ! "  he  cried.  "  Is  this  the  fair  charmer  ? 
Is  this  vile  daub  the  famous  picture  painted 
by  the  divine  Raphael  ? " 

We  turned  and  faced  the  picture,  I  thank- 
ing Madonna  Mary  in  my  heart  that  she  had 
wrought  the  miracle  for  which  I  had  prayed, 
and  Brother  Paul  staring  with  unbelieving 
eyes,  his  face  aghast  with  disappointment  and 
impotent  rage.  For  here  was  no  canvas  of 
immortal  genius  and  beauty,  but  a  badly 


122  Renaissance  Chateaux 

painted  portrait  by  some  tyro  in  art,  caricatur- 
ing rather  than  portraying  (but  in  such 
fashion  that  one  could  not  fail  to  recognise 
it,)  the  age-disfigured  countenance  of  his  good, 
but  never  handsome  Majesty,  Louis  XII.  of 
France ! 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  LADY,  ST.  GEORGE,  AND  THE  DRAGON 

BEING   A   SEQUEL    TO    "  THE  LOST   RAPHAEL  " 

Vf  OU  have  well  guessed  that  my  story  does 

not  end    here,   save  so  far  as   concerns 

Brother  Paul,  who  disappeared,  melting  as  it 

were  into  thin  air.      But  as  for  me,  I  assign  to 

O 

that  propitious  moment  all  the  success  beyond 
desert  which  has  so  wonderfully  crowned  my 
life.  The  company  fell  to  examining  every 
detail  in  the  Cardinal's  hermitage.  As  there 

o 

were  but  few  of  these  they  presently  lighted 
on  my  sketch  in  clay  for  the  statue  of  George 
Amboise.  Being  in  exceeding  good  humour, 
the  King  was  pleased  to  praise  it,  and  all  the 
courtiers  followed  his  lead,  so  that  I  was  over- 
whelmed with  compliment,  and  Madame  Diane 
called  me  aside  and  commissioned  me  to 
build  the  tomb  of  her  late  husband,  Pierre 
de  Breze,  Senechal  of  Normandy,  in  the  same 
chapel  as  the  tomb  of  Cardinal  Amboise. 
So  there  was  I  launched  in  my  career  as  a 
123 


124  Renaissance  Chateaux 

statuary,  and  I  had  the  good  fortune  so  to 
satisfy  the  senechale  with  her  husband's  tomb 
that  she  remained  ever  after  my  good  friend 
and  patroness.  When  I  had  finished  the 
tomb  she  desired  me  to  carve  her  own  statue 
for  her  chateau  of  Anet ;  but  at  that  time  I 
did  not  deem  myself  competent  to  attempt 
the  portrayal  of  the  most  beautiful  woman  at 
the  French  Court,  and  I  begged  her  to  permit 
me  first  to  go  to  Italy  and  render  myself  worthy 
of  such  high  honour.  The  senechale  was 
content  not  only  to  grant  this  request  but  she 
furnished  me  forth  for  my  journey  and  for  my 
residence  in  Rome.  I  reached  the  city  in  the 
autumn  of  1546,  and  lost  no  time  in  presenting 
myself  to  the  greatest  sculptor  of  our  age, 
the  incomparable  Michael  Angelo,  from  whom 
I  experienced  great  kindness. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  tell  of  my  experi- 
ences in  Italy  other  than  as  they  concern  the 
story  of  Jeanne  of  Aragon  and  the  Cardinal, 
for  presently  I  found  myself  again  upon  their 
traces.  My  kind  master  took  me  with  him 
upon  a  certain  day  to  call  upon  that  worshipful 
lady,  Vittoria  Colonna,  Marchesa  di  Pescara, 
who  was  then  residing  in  the  Colonna  palace 
at  the  foot  of  the  garden  which  steps  down 
from  the  Quirinal.  As  we  descended  the 


Lady,  St.  George,  and  Dragon      125 

terraces  midst  roses  and  orange  trees  and  tall 
clipped  hedges,  followed  always  by  a  rill  of 
water  which  dripped  and  slipped  along  the 
mossy  marble  staircase  at  our  side,  I  was 
minded  of  the  garden  at  Gaillon,  and  it 
flashed  over  me  that  the  lady  we  were  about 
to  visit  was  that  Vittoria  Colonna  who  had 
known  somewhat  of  the  designs  of  Amboise 
concerning  the  Princess.  Therefore  I  chose 
my  time  to  ask  her  of  him,  and  she  replied 
graciously  :  "  Our  family  have  much  for  which 
to  thank  Cardinal  Amboise,  though  we  fought 
on  different  sides.  His  nephew,  Charles  Chau- 
mont  Amboise,  would  have  trapped  Pope 
Julius  at  Bologna  had  not  my  father  arrived 
with  the  Spanish  army  and  compelled  the 
French  to  raise  the  siege.  In  spite  of  this, 
when  I  was  living  at  Naples  and  in  the  Cardi- 
nal's power  he  showed  me  every  kindness,  and 
even  did  us  the  honour  to  offer  the  hand  of  his 
ward,  the  Princess  Giovanna  of  Aragon,  to  my 
brother  Ascanio.  They  loved  each  other 
devotedly,  but  when  the  King  of  Spain  gave 
Cardinal  Amboise  the  guardianship  of  Gio- 
vanna they  were  in  despair,  for  they  knew  that 
this  meant  that  the  King  wished  her  to  appear 
at  the  French  Court  and  form  a  French  alli- 
ance. She  was  a  mere  child  at  this  time,  but 


i26  Renaissance  Chateaux 

she  already  gave  promise  of  that  beauty  for 
which  she  became  famous.  The  poets  of  Italy 
sang  her  praises,  and  some  of  these  sonnets 
fell  into  the  hands  of  Francis  of  Valois,  the 
present  King  of  France,  and  he  forthwith 
commissioned  Raphael  to  paint  her  portrait. 
"  Cardinal  Amboise  attended  the  sittings 

o 

which  Giovanna  gave  to  Giulio  Romano,  who 
was  sent  to  Naples  by  Raphael  to  make  the 
first  studies  for  him.  As  the  picture  pro- 
gressed, Amboise  seemed  more  and  more 
dissatisfied.  He  was  evidently  oppressed  by 
the  responsibility  of  his  guardianship  and 
apprehensive  for  the  future  of  his  ward. 

"  Suddenly  my  father  was  astonished  by  the 
receipt  of  a  letter  from  the  Cardinal  in  which 
he  offered  Giovanna's  hand  to  Ascanio.  He 
would  probably  have  mistrusted  the  Cardinal's 
motives  and  have  refused  the  honour  but  for 
my  mediation.  My  brother  came  to  me  in 
despair  begging  my  help,  and  at  the  same  time 
I  received  a  letter  from  Amboise  himself 
which  decided  me  to  act.  I  knew  him  slightly, 
for  he  had  shown  himself  interested  in  a  new 
religious  movement  which  was  springing  up 
in  Naples  and  had  asked  permission  to  pre- 
sent himself  at  my  house  where  the  new  ideas 
were  discussed.  I  have  his  letter  still  and 


Lady,  St.  George,  and  Dragon      127 

shall  always  treasure  it,  for  it  showed  his 
great  heart  and  explained  why  he  had  dared 
to  disappoint  his  sovereign,  for  it  was  the 
wish  of  Louis  XII.  that  Giovanna  should  be 
brought  to  France  as  a  hostage  for  the  good 
faith  of  the  King  of  Spain." 

"  And  so  it  was  simply  to  make  two  lovers 
happy  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  I  might  have  guessed 
as  much.  But  it  exposed  the  good  Cardinal  to 
grave  misunderstanding." 

"  He  knew  that  such  would  be  the  case  and 
yet  did  not  hesitate,  for  there  was  another 
reason,  which  he  explained  to  me  but  could 
not  to  King  Louis." 

"  May  I  see  the  letter  and  know  this  reason, 
gentle  lady  ?  "  I  made  bold  to  ask.  "  I  would 
not  know  from  idle  curiosity,  but  because  the 
Princess  Giovanna  has  a  malignant  enemy 
who  has  been  foiled  once,  but  may  strike 
again";  and  I  told  her  my  experience  at 
Gaillon  as  I  have  here  writ  it  down. 

"  Since  this  Brother  Paul  was  a  Caraffa," 
the  Marchesa  commented,  "he  must  have 
been  either  the  Bishop  of  Chieti  himself,  who 
is  an  inveterate  enemy  of  the  Colonnas,  or 
one  of  his  emissaries." 

She  opened  a  drawer  in  a  cabinet  and 
placed  in  my  hand  a  folded  paper,  adding, 


128  Renaissance  Chateaux 

"  I  ask  nothing  better  than  that  this  letter 
should  fall  into  his  hands,  since  it  refutes  his 
charges." 

I  read  and  was  not  surprised,  for  the  words 
had  the  ring  of  truth.  Having  besought  the 
Marchesa's  aid  in  arranging  the  marriage  be- 
tween his  ward  and  her  brother  Ascanio,  he 
unfolded  his  main  cause  for  anxiety  in  the 
matter : 

"  And  now,  most  worshipful  lady,  I  will 
confide  to  you  the  reason  why  I  am  not  will- 
ling  that  this  radiant  Princess  should  grace 
our  French  Court.  The  young  Duke  of  Val- 
ois,  Fran9ois  d'Angouleme,  has,  through  read- 
ing her  praises,  so  inflamed  his  imagination 
that  he  is  already  half  in  love  with  her  ; 
should  he  once  see  her  it  would  not  be  pos- 
sible for  so  ardent  a  worshipper  of  beauty 
to  refrain  from  laying  his  whole  heart  at  her 
feet.  King  Ferdinand  might  not  be  averse 
to  their  marriage,  since,  as  our  gracious  King 
and  Queen  have  no  son,  Francis  is  heir  to  the 
throne.  But  such  an  alliance  is  impossible  for 
—though  this  is  as  yet  a  state  secret — Fran- 
cis of  Valois  is  betrothed  to  the  Princess 
Claude.  Such,  however,  is  the  gallant,  mas- 
terful, and  unscrupulous  character  of  that 
young  man  that  marriage  vows  will,  I  fear, 


Lady,  St.  George,  and  Dragon      129 

have  no  more  restraint  in  binding  his  passions 
than  ropes  of  tow  to  bind  flame. 

"  Having  once  seen  her  he  would  move  hea- 
ven and  earth  but  he  would  have  her.  There- 
fore I  have  settled  it  in  mine  own  mind  that 
neither  Giovanna  nor  her  portrait  shall  be 
seen  of  him.  Help  me,  gracious  lady,  to  save 
her  from  this  dragon,  for  indeed  the  Prince 
hath  fittingly  chosen  the  salamander  for  his 
device  ;  and  help  me  also  to  give  to  one  an- 
other two  young  souls  attached  with  all  the 
ardour  and  purity  of  a  first  affection,  and  in 
so  doing  you  will  receive  a  sister  worthy  of 
your  own  nobleness.  And  truly  I  am  the 
more  content  to  bestow  upon  you  this  treasure 
in  that  I  feel  myself  indebted  to  you  for  en- 
lightenment concerning  certain  new  views  of 
religion,  views  whose  orthodoxy  as  yet  I  have 
been  too  much  occupied  to  examine,  my  time 
being  so  filled  with  duties  to  be  done  that  I 
have  no  space  in  which  to  think,  and  so  must 
needs  for  the  present  accept  the  faith  which 
the  Church  gives  me.  Praying  that  we  may 
both  be  illuminated  and  strengthened  in  that 

o 

faith,   I   rest,  most  gracious  lady, 

"  Your  ladyship's  faithful  servitor, 

"  Amboise." 
"  I  wish,"  said  the   Marchesa  as  I   laid  the 


130  Renaissance  Chateaux 

letter  down,  "  that  you  could  see  Giovanna  and 
Ascanio  together,  for  I  know  of  no  wedded 
pair  whose  happiness  has  so  made  good  the 
promise  of  their  early  love." 

As  I  went  away,  I  recalled  the  question 
which  George  Amboise  asked  as  he  lay  dying, 
when  the  vanity  of  all  earthly  things  was  so 
apparent  to  him. 

"  Brother  John,  Brother  John,  what  have  I 
done  all  my  long  life,  Brother  John  ?" 

"  France  answers  that  question,"  I  thought. 
"  What  have  you  done  all  your  life,  St. 
George  ?  All  your  life  long  you  have  been 
true  to  your  God,  your  country,  and  your 
friends.  All  your  life  long,  though  you  had 
no  time  to  think,  you  had  time  to  do  your 
duty,  to  keep  your  life  white,  your  high  offices 
unstained.  You  have  been  the  honest,  faith- 
ful friend  of  a  vacillating  King,  guiding  his 
weaker  mind  to  useful  reforms  for  the  bettering 
of  the  condition  of  the  French  people.  You 
withstood  the  Queen  when  she  would  have 
given  the  better  part  of  France  as  a  dowry 
with  the  Princess  Claude  to  a  foreign  prince, 
you  brought  the  renaissance  of  art  to  France 
and  strove  to  guide  the  heir  to  the  throne 
to  its  proper  patronage.  It  was  not  your 
fault  that  he  fulfilled  the  prophecy  of  Louis — 


Lady,  St.  George,  and  Dragon      131 

4  After  we  are  gone  that  great  boy  will  spoil 
everything ' — for  all  your  life  you  were,  and  to 
all  time  will  be,  a  glory  to  your  Church,  to 
your  country,  and  to  humanity." 

Of  the  new  doctrine  which  Amboise  had  not 
time  to  investigate,  though  he  lived  it,  I  came 
to  know  something  in  that  happy  winter. 
Michael  Angelo  had  built  for  Vittoria  Colonna 
a  convent  half-way  up  Monte  Cavallo  where 
Nero  looked  down  upon  burning  Rome.  In  its 
little  chapel  the  Marchesa  invited  Fra  Ambrosio 
to  expound  each  Sunday  the  new  faith  to  a 
choice  circle  to  which  I  was  admitted.  CarafTa's 
spies  snuffed  the  place  out,  and  Fra  Ambrosio 
was  forced  to  flee.  Caraffa  bided  his  time  to 
seize  Vittoria  Colonna,  but  when  the  hour  of 
his  triumph  came  she  was  beyond  his  power. 

It  was  in  February  of  the  new  year  that 
I  went  to  Michael  Angelo  in  alarm  with  the 
intelligence  that  I  had  the  night  before  seen 
the  familiars  of  the  Inquisition  lurking  about 
the  street  door  of  the  Colonna  palace.  The 
information  made  no  impression  upon  him. 
He  was  evidently  under  the  influence  of  some 
strange  exaltation.  A  great  change  had  come 
over  him.  He  held  his  head  like  a  prince 
and  was  dressed  more  richly  than  his  wont, 
but  all  in  black. 


i32  Renaissance  Chateaux 

"  Come  with  me,"  he  said  ;  "  we  are  sum- 
moned to  the  palace  to  see  the  Marchesa." 

There  was  something  awe-inspiring  in  his 
manner  as  he  brushed  aside  the  nobles  and 
strode  up  the  staircase  to  her  chamber. 

Tall  waxen  tapers  guttering  in  silver  can- 
delabra threw  a  flickering  light  upon  the  flow- 
er-banked bed,  upon  which,  in  all  the  majesty 
of  death,  lay  the  noble  woman  whom  Angelo 
had  loved.  He  fell  upon  his  knees  at  her 
side,  then  stooping,  kissed  the  hand  which  in 
life  he  had  not  dared  to  touch.  My  heart 
swelled  with  a  comprehension  of  his  great 
passion,  held  in  leash  by  sublime  reverence 
and  forming  thus  a  superhuman  devotion.  I 
was  so  moved  by  the  pathos  of  this  thing  that 
for  the  moment  I  did  not  mark  that  the  veil 
which  had  shrouded  this  bride  of  death  had 
been  lifted  and  held  by  a  beautiful  woman 
who  looked  down  upon  Angelo  with  eyes 
dimmed  by  the  tenderest  compassion.  But 
when  at  last  I  saw  her  I  knew  that  this  was 
the  wife  of  Prince  Ascanio  Colonna,  Giovanna 
of  Aragon,  and  I  wondered  not  that  all  who 
knew  her  loved  her. 

I  never  saw  her  more,  but  from  afar  I  fol- 
lowed her  after-history  with  the  keenest  inter- 
est. When  in  France,  seven  years  later,  I 


Lady,  St.  George,  and  Dragon      133 

heard  that  a  Caraffa  had  been  elected  Pope 
under  the  style  of  Paul  IV.  I  trembled  for 
her.  When  I  heard  that  he  had  lighted  the' 

o 

fires  of  the  Inquisition  throughout  Christen- 
dom, I  held  my  breath  with  apprehension. 
Then  came  the  news  that  the  Pope  had  pro- 
scribed the  Colonna  family,  and  had  confiscated 
their  property  ;  that  he  had  seized  their  estates, 
and  had  cast  into  the  prison  of  the  Inquisition 
all  of  the  Colonnas  who  dared  to  remain  in 
Rome.  Ascanio  had  fled  to  Spain  to  urge 
Philip  II.  to  interfere,  and  the  Princess  Gio- 
vanna,  from  their  castle  of  Marino,  was  negoti- 
ating in  a  spirited  and  able  manner  with  the 
various  Italian  powers.  I  learned  this  through 
Cardinal  Caraffa,  nephew  of  the  Pope,  who 
came  to  France  to  urge  the  new  King  Henri 
II.  to  send  troops  to  the  aid  of  Paul  IV.,  offer- 
ing the  old  bribe  of  Naples  and  Milan  if  the 
French  would  invade  Italy. 

Again  the  French  army  marched  southward 
on  that  fruitless  errand.  The  conscience  of 
Henri  II.  was  not  at  rest.  He  needed  abso- 
lution, and  he  bought  it  by  sending  Francis 
of  Guise  to  Rome  to  support  the  Pope.  Fol- 
lowing this,  we  heard  that  the  papal  troops 
had  made  a  sally  and  taken  Marino,  and 
that  Giovanna  of  Aragon  was  in  the  custody 


134  Renaissance  Chateaux 

of  the  Inquisition.  But  we  were  fighting 
the  Spaniards  in  the  Low  Countries,  and 
on  the  defeat  of  St.  Quentin,  France  was  so 
thoroughly  frightened  that  the  King  recalled 
the  Duke  of  Guise,  in  hot  haste,  with  all  his 
troops,  to  protect  Paris.  Then  Prince  Ascanio 
Colonna,  who  had  raised  an  army  of  Calabrian 
peasants,  saw  his  opportunity  and  made  a  dash- 
ing raid  up  to  the  very  walls  of  Rome,  so  that 
the  Pope  thought  that  the  Duke  of  Alva  had 
arrived  with  all  his  soldiery,  and  sent  out  a 
flag  of  truce  to  parley.  But  he  would  grant 
nothing  when  he  found  his  mistake,  and  it  was 
not  until  Philip  really  sent  the  Duke  of  Alva 
that  the  Pope  signed  a  treaty.  Even  then  he 
excepted  from  amnesty  all  who  were  arraigned 
before  the  tribunal  of  the  Inquisition,  and 
Prince  Ascanio  Colonna,  in  his  desolate  palace, 
knew  that  there  was  no  power  on  earth  which 
could  rescue  his  wife.  But  there  was  another 
ally  on  whom  neither  he  nor  Caraffa  had 
reckoned. 

When  I  heard  at  the  chateau  of  Chambord, 
where  I  had  been  summoned  by  King  Henri, 
that  things  were  at  this  darkest  pitch,  I  thought 
how  my  good  St.  George  had  rescued  the 
Princess  once  before  from  the  power  of  a 
dragon.  I  had  not  then  grown  to  doubt  the 


Lady,  St.  George,  and  Dragon      135 

efficacy  of  prayer  to  saints.  If  George  Am- 
boise  had  been  so  powerful  as  a  weak  mortal, 
was  his  power  likely  to  be  less  now  ? 

So  I  prayed  him  with  all  my  heart  to  inter- 
fere for  the  Princess.  Then  came  astounding 
news.  Pope  Paul  IV.  had  died  suddenly,  and 
the  Roman  people  had  risen  in  a  mad  tumult  of 
joy  and  had  thrown  the  tyrant's  statue  into  the 
Tiber,  and  burned  the  prison  of  the  Inquisi- 
tion, having  first  liberated  the  prisoners  and 
escorted  the  Princess  to  her  husband  and  her 
palace  with  such  a  wild  demonstration  of  popu- 
lar enthusiasm  as  the  Eternal  City  has  never 
surpassed. 

I    was   in   the   ante-chamber  of   the    Kind's 

o 

apartments  when  I  heard  this  joyful  tidings. 
The  King  beckoned  me  into  his  own  chamber. 
"  We  will  tell  this  to  the  Duchesse  de  Valen- 
tinois,"  he  said  ;  "  it  will  gladden  her  heart, 
for  she  has  always  thought  the  late  Pope  a 
little  too  severe."  I  turned  to  go  to  the 
rooms  of  Diane  de  Poitiers  by  the  public 
corridors  and  the  grand  staircase,  for  they 
were  in  the  other  wing  of  the  building. 

"Stop,"  cried  Henri;  "there  is  a  nearer 
way,"  and  he  led  me  up  a  hidden  staircase  to 
the  roof.  Here  we  passed  around  the  great 
lanterne,  and  threading  the  city  of  pinnacles, 


136  Renaissance  Chateaux 

ornamented  chimneys,  cupolas,  campaniles, 
spires,  turrets,  and  dormers,  he  unlocked  a  door 
in  a  tourelle  and  we  descended  a  spiral  staircase 
which  led  to  the  boudoir  of  the  Duchess. 

"  My  royal  father  of  too  joyous  memory 
possessed  the  keys  of  many  such  staircases," 
he  explained,  "but  oddly  enough,  this  apart- 
ment, one  of  the  most  charming  in  the  palace, 
was  never  occupied.  The  Master  of  the 
Household  tells  me  that  when  the  chateau 
was  first  built,  the  King,  then  a  young  man, 
took  especial  interest  in  its  fitting,  but  the 
lady  for  whom  it  was  prepared  never  came. 
Possibly  she  was  the  Princess  in  whose  safety 
we  are  all  so  interested,  and  whose  portrait 
we  hoped  to  find  at  Gaillon." 

The  Duchess  Diane,  who  now  joined  us, 
heard  gladly  the  news  which  we  brought,  for 
I  had  told  her  all  that  I  had  learned  from 
Vittoria  Colonna. 

"  I  would  that  I  might  have  seen  her  por- 
trait," said  Henri.  "She  must  be  a  holy 
woman,  indeed,  that  for  her  sake  God  wrought 
that  miracle  in  the  Cardinal's  hermitage.  It 
must  have  been  a  miracle,  since  I  have  it 
from  Solario,  who  occupied  the  room  in  the 
lifetime  of  the  Cardinal,  that  the  lost  Raphael 
was  really  hidden  there." 


i  ;6  ]\  ;•',,<;  Chateaux 


mpaniies, 

-d  a  door 

taircast- 


i-mory 

:ases," 

apart- 

alact-, 

the 


Portion  of  the  Roof  of  the  Chateau 
of  Chambord 


Lady,  St.  George,  and  Dragon      137 

"  I  am  not  so  credulous  as  to  believe  that 
miracles  are  wrought  for  maligned  ladies, 
even  when  they  are  innocent,"  said  the  Duch- 
ess, looking  at  me  so  fixedly  that  I  flushed  in 
spite  of  myself.  "  I  suspected  it  all  the  time," 
she  cried.  "  If,  indeed,  such  miracles  are 
wrought  in  our  latter  days,  it  is  by  human 
means." 

"And  since,"  I  answered,  "King  Francis 
being  dead,  there  is  no  longer  any  reason  for 
concealing  the  portrait,  I  do  confess  that  I 
was  that  means." 

"  You  did  not  dare  to  destroy  that  ines- 
timable treasure ! "  the  King  exclaimed  in 
dismay. 

"  Nay,  your  Majesty,"  I  answered,  "  the 
portrait  is  safe,  and  a  wet  sponge  will  restore 
it  to  you.  When,  on  that  eventful  day,  I 
returned  from  the  cathedral  of  Rouen  to  the 
hermitage,  despairing  because  Brother  Paul 
had  possessed  himself  of  the  key  to  the  hid- 
ing-place, I  at  first  resolved,  as  I  have  told  you, 
to  break  open  the  doors,  but  when  I  picked  up 
the  plug  of  wax  I  saw  that  it  gave  an  exact 
impression  of  the  lock,  and  with  the  file  which 
I  found  in  the  closet  I  made  from  the  palette- 
knife  a  key  which  opened  the  doors.  There 
was  the  painting, — such  a  marvel  of  beauty  that 


138  Renaissance  Chateaux 

I  had  no  heart  to  destroy  it, — and  there  came 
to  me  suddenly  a  scheme  by  which  I  could 
hide  it  more  effectually  than  the  Cardinal 
had  done,  and  yet  preserve  it,  uninjured, 
for  future  ages.  The  varnish  was  thick 
and  firm,  and  on  its  surface  I  painted  with 
the  colours  left  by  Solario  a  hasty  portrait 
of  Louis  XII.,  using  for  information  the 
charcoal  study  which  I  had  made  from  the 
statue  of  De  Mugiano.  I  am  no  painter, 
but  sculpture  is  a  kindred  art  to  limning, 
and  so,  though  my  colour  was  crude,  my  draw- 
ing was  not  so  bad.  The  head  was  well 
modelled,  and  the  likeness  unmistakable.  It 
answered  the  purpose,  and  I  was  not  cast 
down  that  the  workmanship  was  reviled.  I 
painted  in  tempera,  which  dries  quickly,  mix- 
ing the  old  pigment  with  the  whites  of  eggs 
from  a  nest  outside  the  window,  and  hiding 
the  charcoal  study  within  my  bed. 

"  At  last,  your  Majesty  knows  all  the  truth, 
and,  since  the  hiding  of  the  portrait  in  that 
place  can  no  longer  be  misunderstood,  I  care 
not  who  beside  may  know  it." 


JEANNE  D'ARAQON. 

FROM  THE  PAINTING  IN   THE  LOUVRE,  ATTRIBUTED  TO  RAPHAEL 

(By  permission  of  Neurdein,  Paris.) 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  NYMPH  OF  FONTAINEBLEAU 

As  I  walked  in  the  grass-green  alleys 
Where  fringes  of  beech  trees  grow, 
I  thought  of  the  close-cut  lindens 
And  the  fishes  of  Fontainebleau  ; 
The  lazy  fins  of  the  old  grey  carp, 
Almost  too  idle  to  eat  their  bread, 
And  the  turreted  roof  so  fine  and  sharp, 
Cutting  into  the  blue  sky  overhead. 

The  great  square  courts  are  still  as  the  grave, 

Once  so  joyous  with  hunting-horn, 

When  the  princely  hunter  eager  and  brave 

Rode  to  the  chase  at  the  flush  of  morn  ; 

The  grand  old  courts  of  Francis  First, 

Neither  the  ugliest  nor  the  worst 

Of  that  kingly  race  who  hunted  the  deer 

All  day  long  in  the  forest  wide 

Which  stretches  for  miles  on  every  side. 

BESSIE  RAYNOR  PARKES. 

I 
THE    LADIES'  BATTLE 

THOUGH  it  has  taken  such  brief  space  to 
relate  the  story  of  the  portrait  of  Jeanne 
d'Araojon  vet  was  it  manv  rears  in  the  han- 


140  Renaissance  Chateaux 

pening,  and  during  that  time  it  may  well  be 
understood  that  other  people  loved  and  hated, 
wedded  and  died,  kissed  and  laughed,  felt  the 
prick  of  cold  steel  in  their  ribs,  and,  well  rid  of 
it  all,  lay  down  to  sleep  in  carven  marble,  and 
some  of  it  of  my  own  cutting. 

I  was  but  a  boy  when  I  entered  upon  my 
career  at  Rouen  and  caught  the  attention  of 
the  sovereign  lady,  Diane  de  Poitiers,  who  has 
been  all  my  life  my  good  genius  and  dear 
patroness ;  but  it  was  not  until  the  death  of 
King  Francis  and  the  accession  of  his  Majesty, 
Henri  II.,  in  the  year  1547,  that  she  was  able 
to  open  up  for  me  the  great  opportunities 
which  were  the  making  of  my  fortunes.  Be- 
fore this  time  I  had  much  to  learn  and  more 
to  enjoy. 

Having  accomplished  at  Rouen  the  monu- 
ment of  the  Due  de  Breze,  some  time  before 
my  journey  to  Italy,  I  set  out  incontinent  for 
the  King's  palace  of  Fontainebleau,  nothing 
doubting  that  I,  a  beardless  boy,  had  but  to 
announce  myself  to  be  put  in  charge  of  all  the 
great  works  there  in  progress. 

I  had  letters  from  Diane  de  Poitiers  touch- 
ing this  tomb  which  I  had  erected  for  her  in 
memory  of  her  husband,  and  these  letters  ad- 
mitted me  to  the  palace,  but  I  learned  at  her 


FRANCIS  I. 

FROM  THE  PAINTING  BY  TITIAN. 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau     141 

apartment,  to  my  disappointment,  that  she  was 
with  a  party  of  fine  gentlemen  and  ladies  who 
were  hunting  in  the  forest. 

Nothing  daunted  I  asked  where  I  might  find 
King  Francis  and  was  maliciously  answered 
by  a  saucy  page,  "  Belike  in  the  pavilion  of 
the  Duchesse  d'Etampes." 

Off  went  I,  green  gosling  that  I  was,  to 
that  lady's  boudoir,  and  demanded  to  see  his 
Majesty. 

It  was  indeed  the  most  likely  place  to  find 
him,  for  she  was  the  King's  acknowledged 
mistress,  flaunting  her  fascinations  insolently, 
and  sulking  like  a  spoiled  child  when  any  of 
her  whims  were  disregarded.  She  was  out  of 
humour  this  morning  and  had  refused  to  go 
to  the  hunt,  but  the  Kin^r  had  ^one,  riding  by 

o  o  o        -* 

the  side  of  the  Dauphiness,  the  young  Cathe- 
rine de'  Medici,  which  had  angered  his  favour- 
ite still  more  deeply. 

So  when  the  serving-man  carried  in  my 
message,  it  struck  her  against  the  grain,  and 
she  flounced  into  the  room  the  picture  of  in- 
dignation. It  was  a  pretty  picture,  all  the 
same,  this  little  blonde  in  delicate  pink,  her 
blushing  face  peeping  from  a  f raise  of  costly 
lace,  which  had  more  crumples  and  ruffles  than 
a  rose  has  petals.  She  had  been  crying ;  her 


i42  Renaissance  Chateaux 

eyes  were  a  bit  red  and  her  lips  were  pouting, 
but  she  was  charming  to  look  at, —  a  little 
strawberry  of  a  woman  that  a  man  might 
swallow  with  one  bite. 

I  liked  her  not  so  well  when  she  began  to 
talk,  for  her  voice  was  high-pitched  and  quer- 
ulous, and  had  a  shrewish  tang  that  stung  like 
the  lash  of  a  riding-whip. 

"What  insult  is  this?"  she  cried.  "The 
King  rode  publicly  away  with  his  courtiers  to 
the  hunt.  Who  sent  you  to  seek  him  here  ?  " 

Then  I,  perceiving  that  we  had  both  been 
played  upon,  begged  her  to  forgive  a  poor  boy 
from  the  country,  who  knew  no  better  than  to 
seek  for  the  King,  where  he  would  doubtless 
give  his  royal  crown  to  be  permitted  to  linger. 
She  bridled  and  feigned  to  be  shocked,  but  I 
could  see  that  I  had  not  seriously  displeased 
her. 

"  And  what  is  your  business  with  the  King, 
my  pretty  page  ?  "  she  asked. 

I  told  her  that  I  was  Jean  Goujon,  a  statu- 
ary of  Rouen,  seeking  opportunity  to  show 
forth  my  talents,  and  with  that  she  cried  :  "  I 
know  you  now  for  the  youth  who  modelled 
the  head  of  Cardinal  Amboise  that  we  saw  at 
Gaillon.  We  are  building  no  tombs  here.  Can 
you  do  work  of  a  gayer  and  prettier  aspect  ?  " 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau      143 

"  Try  me,  gracious  lady,"  was  all  I  could 
answer.  She  knitted  her  brows  and  said  : 

"  Alas  !  my  poor  boy,  I  can  do  nothing  for 
you.  If  your  name  were  Ippolito  or  Alessandro, 
and  you  wore  a  Florentine  doublet  embroid- 
ered with  the  three  balls  of  the  Medici,  I 
would  send  you  to  the  Dauphiness  and  your 
fortune  would  be  made.  For  seriously,  my  poor 
countryman,  all  of  the  King's  favours  go  to 
Italians.  He  is  Italian  mad,  and  no  one  hath 
any  influence  with  him  in  regard  to  the  renova- 
tion of  the  palace  save  that  malicious  Italian 
girl,  the  wife  of  Prince  Henri,  who  is  so  ugly 
that  even  her  husband  cannot  bear  her.  But 
her  father-in-law  is  bewitched  by  her.  She 
alone  is  entitled  to  have  any  opinion.  No 
French  architect  or  artist,  whatever  his  genius, 
can  have  a  finger  in  the  beautifying  of  Fon- 
tainebleau. Catherine  is  superintendent  of 
the  works.  It  is  she  who  engages  every  mason 
and  bricklayer.  I  have  tolerated  her  assump- 
tion of  directorship  so  far  because  it  angers 
Diane  de  Poitiers,  who  longs  to  be  acknow- 
ledged the  most  beautiful  woman  at  Court,  and 
who  is  recognised  only  as  the  vainest.  But 
there  is  a  Bolognese  artist  here  who  is  not  of 
the  Medicean  faction.  His  name  is  Prima- 
ticcio.  It  was  enough  that  he  was  Italian  for 


144  Renaissance  Chateaux 

the  King  to  give  him  work,  but  he  is  not  a 
Florentine  and  he  is  an  open  rival  of  Rosso, 
Catherine's  favourite,  who  is  nominally  archi- 
tect-in-chief.  I  have  favoured  Primaticcio  for 
this  very  reason.  He  has  the  decoration  of 
the  new  Salle  des  Fetes.  I  will  write  him  a 
word,  bidding  him  employ  you.  I  have  a 
scheme  by  which  you  shall  help  me  to  humble 
that  Medicean  girl,  by  surpassing  and  sup- 
planting her  Italian  craftsmen." 

I  made  answer  that  to  surpass  all  artists 
whatsoever  was  precisely  the  aim  which  I  had 
set  myself. 

"  Then  listen  carefully,"  she  replied.  "  The 
King  has  given  the  ornamentation  of  the  grand 
portal  of  the  palace,  which  is  just  beneath  this 
apartment,  to  one  of  Catherine's  sculptors. 
He  is  devoted  to  the  Medici,  and  doubtless  her 
insignia  will  figure  with  that  of  Francis  and  of 
Henri  on  the  arch.  Think  what  an  indignity 
to  me  to  see  her  blazon  beneath  my  windows. 
Design  me  a  Venus,  surpassingly  beautiful, 
languorous,  seductive, — Venus  with  her  doves 
and  the  boy  Cupid  by  her  side.  Catherine  is 
a  prude  ;  she  would  not  allow  her  initials  carved 
beside  a  Venus.  There  will  be  no  need  to  put 
mine  beneath  it.  I  am  the  most  beautiful 
woman  in  Fontainebleau.  It  is  war  between 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau      145 

Catherine  and  Diane  and  me,  and  I  will  humble 
them  both." 

I  tried  in  my  tactless  way  to  explain  that 
even  for  the  hope  of  fame  I  would  not  offend 
my  first  patroness,  when  my  lady  flashed  into 
flame. 

"  Stay — not  so  fast ;  it  was  fortune,  not  fame, 
that  I  promised  you.  I  told  you  plainly  that 
no  Frenchman  could  find  favour  with  the  Kin^. 

o 

But  your  work  will  be  accepted  if  it  is  pre- 
sented to  him  as  Primaticcio's.  Neither  your 
precious  patroness,  Diane  de  Poitiers,  nor  your 
rival,  Catherine's  sculptor,  will  know  that  you 
have  any  hand  in  this  matter.  It  is  like  that 
the  Florentine  will  be  angry  if  you  succeed. 
He  is  a  bravo,  and  as  skilful  in  the  use  of  the 
poniard  as  of  the  chisel;  but  it  will  be  Primatic- 
cio  and  not  you  who  will  be  in  danger  of 
being  stabbed." 

I  told  her  that  I  liked  these  conditions  still 
less,  and  could  not  accept  them.  So  I  went 
from  her  presence  having  in  that  half-hour 
learned  much  of  the  intrigues  of  the  Court. 
Three  ladies  contested  empire  here  at  Fon- 
tainebleau, Catherine  de'  Medici,  the  Duchesse 
d'Etampes  and  Diane  de  Poitiers.  As  they 
walked  through  its  mazy  bowers  and  adown  the 
grand  avenues  into  the  forest  glades  they  were 


Renaissance  Chateaux 


eating  their  own  hearts  with  envy  or  each 
other's  with  revenge.  He  who  would  rise  by 
patronage  at  Fontainebleau  had  a  tortuous  path 
to  tread.  I  had  blundered  on  a  bit  of  good 
luck  at  the  outset,  and  had  blundered  out  again  ; 
but  I  was  swelling  with  self-approbation,  and 
that  is  a  mighty  satisfaction  —  until  a  man  is 
hungry. 

Meantime,  and  while  awaiting  the  return  of 
the  hunters,  I  strolled  about,  taking  a  look  at 
the  changes  in  progress  in  the  chateau,  which 
interested  me  mightily  on  their  own  account. 
The  new  entrance  was  in  the  most  conspicuous 
position  which  could  have  been  chosen,  for  it 
was  in  the  centre  of  the  long  garden  fa£ade. 
As  I  looked  at  the  unfinished  opening  it  irked 
me  to  think  of  the  opportunity  which  I  had 
lost.  "  There  should  be  a  monumental  arch 
here,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  with  a  noble  piece  of 
sculpture  overhead.  It  will  be  a  grand  chance 
for  that  lucky  Florentine."  As  I  envied  him, 
Messer  Rosso  brushed  by  me,  and  I  caught  him 
by  the  sleeve  and  asked  if  he  knew  who  had 
been  commissioned  to  ornament  this  gateway. 

"  The  famous  Benvenuto  Cellini,"  he  replied. 
"  He  was  introduced  to  the  King  by  Cardinal 
d'Este  of  Ferrara,  and  is  in  high  favour,  as 
indeed  he  deserves  to  be,  for  he  has  made 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau      147 

many  exquisite  works  in  goldsmithry  as  well 
as  noble  ones  in  bronze." 

I  sighed  a  little  enviously,  but  I  had  heard 
of  this  Cellini,  and  I  doubted  not  that  he 
merited  the  trust.  It  was  past  noon,  and  hav- 
ing brought  a  crust  in  my  pouch  I  walked  along 
the  lake  to  a  shady  nook,  and  there  flung  my- 
self under  the  trees  to  eat  my  luncheon.  The 
carp  were  darting  about  in  the  clear  water,  and 
I  gave  them  largess  of  my  crumbs,  noting  how 
human-like  they  leapt  and  fought  for  food,  just 
as  we  poor  artists,  biting  one  another  for  the 
favours  of  those  above  us.  As  I  loathed  their 
greediness  I  swore  to  myself  that  I  would 
never  act  so  fish-like  a  part  as  to  snatch  at  the 
crumb  thrown  to  a  fellow-craftsman,  or  gain  my 
own  mouthful  in  any  way  outside  of  kindness 
and  honour,  nay,  though  I  starved  for  it.  As 
I  was  thus  employed  the  hunting-party  dashed 
up  from  the  forest,  Francis  leading,  on  a  mag- 
nificent horse,  and  the  Dauphiness  Catherine 
by  his  side  on  a  milk-white  palfrey.  She  wore 
a  riding  habit  of  dark  green  velvet,  and  she 
rode  daringly  and  well.  They  gave  up  their 
horses  at  the  palace  gate,  but  they  did  not  enter. 
Instead,  to  my  surprise,  they  came  toward  me. 

"  Throw  in  more  bread,  fellow  ;  keep  the  carp 
there!  "  cried  the  King  ;  "  while  do  you,  Tribou- 


Renaissance  Chateaux 


let,  run  to  the  lodge  for  a  landing-net.  I  have 
the  fillets  from  the  goldsmith,  and  the  Dau- 
phiness  shall  see  the  carp  wearing  their  neck- 
laces with  her  monogram  before  we  go  in  to 
dine." 

The  King  had  not  recognised  me,  but  had 
taken  me  for  an  under-gardener,  and  I  replied 
that  I  would  gladly  obey  him,  were  it  not  that 
I  had  already  given  away  all  the  bread  I  had, 
and  after  the  manner  of  my  craft  knew  not 
whence  more  was  to  come. 

"  So,"  said  the  King  ;  "  and  what  improvid- 
ent craft  is  that  ?  Ah  !  I  know  you  now,  —  the 
statuary  of  Gaillon.  Wait  till  we  have  the  carp 
in  their  collars  ;  then  you  shall  tell  me  whether 
Cardinal  Amboise  or  I  know  better  how  to 
build  a  chateau." 

I  praised  the  palace,  as  I  honestly  could,  and 
thanked  the  King  for  making  it  such  a  school 
of  art  to  Frenchmen  by  showing  them  the 
greater  excellence  of  Italian  methods. 

"  You  take  the  pitcher  by  the  right  handle," 
replied  the  King.  "  I  believe  in  my  heart 
I  have  done  France  service.  Ah  !  if  Lion- 
ardo  had  only  lived  ;  but  he  died  in  my  arms. 
If  Andrea  del  Sarto's  sweetheart  would  have 
let  him  stay  in  France,  the  baggage.  It  was 
for  her  sake  he  tricked  me,  but  she  robbed 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau      149 

me  of  more  than  gold  when  she  wiled  him  from 
me.  Michael  Angelo  and  Raphael  will  not 
come,  but  there  is  always  money  at  my  bankers' 
in  Rome  to  pay  their  travelling  expenses  if  they 
change  their  mind.  Go  to  Rome,  young  man, 
if  you  would  learn  to  achieve  the  beautiful ;  he 
must  be  a  pupil  first  who  would  be  a  master." 

It  was  on  my  lips  to  say  that  this  was  what 
I  desired  most  to  do,  but  I  was  ever  a  poor 
beggar,  and  I  could  not  tell  him  that  I  lacked 
the  means. 

Catherine  looked  at  me  with  keen,  cold  eyes, 
as  though  she  read  my  thoughts  and  knew  me 
for  a  rival  of  her  countrymen. 

The  King  played  with  the  fish  and  chatted 
with  her.  "  Carp  live  for  centuries,  they  say, 
so  that  hundreds  of  years  hence  a  fisherman 
may  find  one  with  a  golden  fillet  and  wonder 
for  whom  these  letters  stand." 

"  They  will  not  wonder  over  the  crowned 
'  F,'  "  Catherine  replied,  "  but  the  '  C  '  may 
well  puzzle  them.  Will  anyone  know  of  me  a 
hundred  years  hence  ?  " 

"If  you  are  good,  no,"  sneered  the  King; 
"  if  wicked,  yes." 

"  Then  I  think  I  will  be  wicked,"  the  girl 
replied,  "  for  I  would  like  to  make  my  mark ; 
I  would  like  to  be  remembered." 


150  Renaissance  Chateaux 

"  Wicked  people  are  much  more  amusing 
than  good  ones,"  said  the  King,  evidently 
thinking  her  in  jest,  but  there  was  no  smile  on 
Catherine's  face.  "  I  do  not  mean  that  kind 
of  wicked,"  she  said  ;  "  I  shall  always  command 
respect  and  I  have  no  wish  to  acid  to  the 
world's  amusement.  With  that  she  closed  her 
lips  firmly  and  walked  rapidly  toward  the 
palace. 

The  King  laughed  and  asked  me  if  I  had 
seen  the  new  portions  of  the  palace.  I  praised 
them,  and  he  caught  my  arm,  saying  :  "  Come 
with  me  and  I  will  show  you  the  rarest  and 
most  beautiful  sight  in  Fontainebleau.  It  has 
been  a  hot  day  ;  the  hunt  was  long  and  rough. 
I  am  drenched  with  sweat  and  covered  with 
dust ;  I  must  have  my  cold  plunge  before  I 
eat.  Rosso  contrived  my  baths  like  those  of 
a  Roman  Emperor.  See,  there  is  the  house 
with  the  white  portico  in  yon  copse.  There  is 
a  tank  large  enough  to  swim  in  sunk  in  the 
marble  pavement.  There  are  statues  and  de- 
corations which  will  ravish  you,  for  I  take  it 
that  an  artist  will  not  be  shocked  by  the  nude." 

I  thought  he  meant  frescoes,  and  express- 
ing my  worship  of  the  human  form,  I  fol- 
lowed his  Majesty  with  alacrity.  He  unlocked 
the  door  and  we  entered  the  building  together. 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau      151 

The  atmosphere  of  the  place  was  refreshing 
with  its  gurgle  of  water  slipping  in  and  out 
of  the  bath,  and  the  milky  white  coolness  of 
the  tiled  walls,  but  I  saw  no  paintings.  "  Wait," 
said  the  King,  as  he  saw  a  question  framing 
itself  in  my  eyes.  His  next  step  filled  me 
with  surprise,  for  he  closed  the  shutters,  mak- 
ing the  room  perfectly  dark.  Then  I  felt  him 
take  me  by  the  shoulders  and  turn  me  around, 
and  across  the  illumined  wall  there  glided  the 
semblance  of  a  female  figure,  shrouded  from 
head  to  foot  in  some  clinging  white  drapery. 
It  paused  at  the  farther  edge,  looked  about 
timorously,  as  though  fearing  observation,  then 
threw  off  the  drapery  and  leapt  out  of  sight. 
Strange  to  say  the  leap  was  accompanied  by  a 
splash,  faint  and  distant,  as  though  deadened 
by  walls,  but  distinct  enough  to  be  no  figment 
of  the  imagination.  Puzzled  by  this  moving 
picture,  for  as  yet  I  did  not  understand  the 
mechanism  of  mirrors  and  lens  by  which  it 
was  contrived,  I  looked  again  and  now  I  saw 
the  same  beautiful  woman  swimming  mermaid 
like  in  rippling  water.  She  sank  and  rose,  her 
beautiful  body  gleaming  white  through  the 
sparkling  wavelets.  She  luxuriated  in  her  bath, 
plashing  the  water  into  a  fountain  of  prismatic 
drops  with  rapid  movements  of  her  perfect 


i52  Renaissance  Chateaux 

arms.  There  was  a  long  mirror  on  the  oppos- 
ite side  of  the  bath  which  gave  charming  vari- 
ants of  the  picture,  and  at  last  the  beautiful 
subject  caught  sight  of  herself  in  it.  She  posed 
in  graceful  attitudes  before  it,  as  fascinating  in 
her  self-admiration  as  she  had  been  in  her  un- 
consciousness. She  could  not  help  but  recog- 
nise her  own  beauty  and  delight  in  it.  She 
threw  herself  kisses,  coquetted  with  a  thousand 
playful  gestures,  beckoning,  shaking  her  finger 
with  affected  disdain,  holding  out  her  white 
arms  appealingly,  dashing  handfuls  of  water 
against  the  glass  in  sportive  battle,  and  at 
last  swimming  straight  to  it  she  lifted  her- 
self by  the  edge  of  the  bath  and  kissed  her 
image  lip  to  lip.  Then  she  left  the  water  and 
stood,  a  perfect  Grecian  statue,  wringing  out 
her  long  hair,  which  had  become  loosened  by 
her  rapid  movements  and  covered  her  as  with 
a  veil.  So  far  I  had  enjoyed  the  vision  keenly, 
but  when  she  knotted  her  hair  like  a  crown 
about  her  queenly  head  and  I  recognised  the 
incomparable  Diane  de  Poitiers  I  was  smitten 
with  such  shame  and  indignation  that  I  covered 
my  sinning  eyes  with  my  hands. 

"  She  cannot  hear  us,"  said  the  King  ; 
"do  not  be  afraid  to  speak.  The  ladies'  bath- 
room is  on  the  other  side  of  the  building.  As 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau      153 

yet  they  have  no  suspicion  of  the  diversion 
they  afford  me,  but  I  know  not  how  long  I  can 
keep  the  secret.  Confess  that  you  have  been 
rarely  entertained  !  You  are  fortunate  in 
having  had  a  glimpse  of  the  peerless  Diane. 
Trust  me,  there  are  many  who  would  move 
you  rather  to  mirth  than  to  admiration." 

I  could  not  speak ;  anger  and  mortification 
kept  me  tongue-tied.  The  King  opened  the 
shutters,  and  with  the  light  of  day  the  scene 
vanished.  My  blushing,  downcast  face  must 
have  been  a  silent  rebuke  to  the  Kino-  for  he 

o* 

exclaimed  impatiently  :  "  Tush,  man,  you  a 
sculptor,  and  have  you  never  seen  an  unclothed 
woman  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  many,  sire,  in  the  practice  of 
my  art,  but  never  the  meanest  model  without 
her  permission,  and  if  to  spy  on  the  privacy  of 
a  noble  lady  be  one  of  the  prerogatives  of  king- 
hood,  for  me  it  can  only  be  an  indignity." 

The  King  was  angry.  "Then  get  you  gone 
with  what  speed  you  may,"  he  said,  "  and  thank 
your  foolhardy  insolence  for  marring  your  own 
fortunes.  I  had  thought  to  give  you  a  com- 
mission to  use  this  place  as  a  studio  and  model 
for  me  some  of  these  beauties,  but  since  it 
offends  your  fine  sense  of  modesty  let  me 
never  hear  of  you  or  see  you  again." 


154  Renaissance  Chateaux 

So  there  was  I,  in  and  out  of  patronage  for 
the  second  time  in  one  day,  and  with  naught 
to  blame  for  my  misfortune  but  my  own 
squeamishness.  I  was  so  shamed  by  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  dishonourable  act  to  which  I 
had  involuntarily  been  a  partner  that  I  was  in 
twenty  minds  not  to  present  myself  before 
Diane  de  Poitiers,  but  I  reflected  that  I  could 
not  afford  to  be  my  own  undoing  for  the  third 
time,  and  I  brazened  down  my  blushes  and 
was  admitted.  Prince  Henri  was  there  before 
me.  He  wore  her  widow's  colours, — black  and 
white,  even  to  his  jewels,  which  were  black 
and  white  pearls.  As  for  the  senechale,  she 
was  radiant  in  white  satin,  and  her  complexion 
was  so  marvellous  that  it  took  no  disparage- 
ment from  the  satin's  purity. 

She  greeted  me  with  sweet  cordiality,  and 
praised  my  work  for  her  at  Rouen,  regretting 
that  she  had  no  more  to  give  me. 

I  thanked  her  for  her  good  will,  and  added 
that  though  I  had  spent  but  a  few  hours  at 
Fontainebleau  I  thought  I  understood  the 
situation,  and  that  only  foreigners,  minions  of 
the  Dauphiness,  had  any  chance  of  preferment. 
Then  I  related  my  adventure  of  the  morning 
with  the  Duchesse  d'Etampes,  but  you  may 
be  sure  I  said  nothing  of  that  of  the  afternoon. 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau      155 

The  Dauphin  was  usually  taciturn,  but  a 
slight  to  Diane  would  open  the  flood-gates  of 
his  indignation.  His  first  romantic  attach- 
ment as  a  boy  had  ripened  into  the  single 
passion  of  his  life.  She  should  have  been  his 
wife  in  name,  for  she  was  such  in  fact  be- 
fore, for  matters  of  state  policy,  the  Italian 
alliance  was  forced  upon  him. 

"  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau,"  he  cried  angrily, 
"there  is  but  one  divinity  here,  and  it  is  you, 
ma  mie.  When  I  am  King  I  will  blazon  your 
device  all  over  these  walls.  Your  crescent 
shall  be  entwined  everywhere  with  my  initial  ; 
and  not  Venus,  but  Diana,  your  name-goddess, 
shall  be  painted  or  sculptured  in  every  room." 

She  lifted  his  hand  to  her  lips  and  kissed  it 
as  she  replied :  "  And  meantime,  my  love, 
this  woman's  insolence  is  as  nothing  to  me. 
No,  nor  the  influence  of  the  Dauphiness  over 
your  royal  father.  Jean  Goujon  here  is  gen- 
erous enough  to  say  that  Cellini  merits  his 
favour.  I  would  gladly  advance  certain  French 
artists  that  I  wot  of,  but  you  know  that  it  is 
useless  to  attempt  to  persuade  the  King  that 
they  can  equal  his  Italians." 

"  Perhaps  it  may  be  so  here  at  Fontaine- 
bleau," Prince  Henri  replied,  "but  I  have 
undertaken  certain  works  of  my  own  whereon 


156  Renaissance  Chateaux 

I  shall  employ  only  Frenchmen.  The  country 
is  growing  tired  of  Italy  and  these  Italian 
favourites.  I  shall  head  the  national  party 
and  when  my  turn  to  rule  comes  round  will 
cry,  '  France  for  Frenchmen.' " 

Diane  smiled  approvingly.  I  knew  later 
that  he  had  learned  this  patriotic  sentiment 
from  her,  but  she  had  taught  him  so  cleverly 
how  to  be  acceptable  to  the  people  that  he 
fancied  he  had  himself  originated  the  idea. 
He  was  but  wax  in  her  hands  and  she  moulded 
him  as  she  would. 

"  The  Duchess  has  no  right  to  claim  Venus 
as  her  representative,"  he  said,  reverting  to 
the  idea  which  had  aroused  his  indignation, 
"  for  you  are  the  goddess  of  beauty,  the  most 
beautiful  woman  in  all  the  world.  Is  she  not, 
Jean  Goujon  ?" 

"  She  is  indeed  ! "  I  replied  fervently. 

"  Ah  !  but  poor  man,  you  do  not  know  how 
beautiful  she  is  ! "  he  exclaimed,  with  some- 
thing of  pity  in  his  voice. 

Francis  had  looked  so  hearty  that  Henri's 
coronation  seemed  to  me  a  long  way  off,  and 
I  asked  desperately,  "  Is  there  no  way  in  which 
I  can  serve  your  nobilities  while  waiting  your 
Highness's  happy  accession  ?" 

But  the  Prince  did  not  hear  me.       He  had 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau      157 

sniffed  a  flavour  of  roast  venison  and  he  rose 
hastily,  exclaiming,  "  Let  us  to  dinner ;  the 
ride  has  given  me  the  appetite  of  a  wolf." 

As  they  passed  me  Diane  said  :  "  Wait  here  ; 
we  will  bring  you  your  answer  when  we  re- 
turn." 

And  so  I  waited,  growing  hungrier  every 
moment,  for  I  had  been  too  generous  of  my 
luncheon  to  the  carp.  I  began  to  fear  myself 
forgotten  when  a  page  brought  me  a  note.  I 
thought  at  first  that  he  had  made  a  mistake, 
for  it  was  addressed  to  "  Pierre  Lescot,  Sieur  de 
Clagny,  Architect  of  the  repairs  at  the  Church 
of  St.  Germain  1'Auxerrois,  Paris."  But  pre- 
sently I  discerned  in  the  corner :  "  By  favour 
of  Jean  Goujon,  Statuary,"  and  I  took  heart 
of  hope. 

II 

PONIARD  AND  CHISEL 

I  was  at  work  in  a  little  cloister  behind  the 
Church  of  St.  Germain  1'Auxerrois,  chisel- 
ling merrily  away  on  one  of  the  little  figures 
for  the  rood-screen,  and  singing  loudly  at  my 
work,  for  I  was  quite  alone.  The  blows  of  my 
mallet  and  my  rollicking  song  made  such  a 
din  that  I  did  not  hear  a  light  footfall  behind 


158  Renaissance  Chateaux 

me  and  it  was  not  till  I  felt  a  touch  upon  my 
arm  that  I  was  ware  of  the  presence  of  a  lady. 
After  their  manner  when  riding  abroad,  she 
wore  a  little  black  satin  mask.  Her  velvet 
dress  was  black,  but  it  flared  in  front,  showing 
a  white  satin  petticoat  embroidered  with  silver  ; 
the  sleeves  too  were  slashed  over  white,  and 
had  great  ermine  over-sleeves,  so  that  from 
the  colours  I  might  have  guessed  who  she  was, 
even  had  I  possessed  more  acquaintances 
among  great  ladies.  She  held  out  her  hand 
graciously  and  I  was  on  one  knee  to  kiss  it  in 
a  twinkling,  wondering  what  lucky  circum- 
stance had  brought  my  patroness  to  my  work- 
bench. 

"Are  we  quite  alone,  Jean  Goujon?"  she 
asked,  looking  about  her  ;  and  taking  from  a 
little  satchel  a  long  brown  cloak  with  a  cap- 
uchin, she  threw  it  over  her  head  and 
shoulders. 

"Confess  you  would  not  recognise  me  now," 
she  laughed.  "  That  cloak  belongs  to  my 
nurse.  Doff  your  blouse  and  take  your  hat 
and  follow  me." 

We  went  out  through  the  church.  The  litter 
of  Diane  de  Poitiers  stood  at  the  door,  but 
none  of  the  men  who  wore  her  livery  and  who 
were  lounging  in  the  porch  recognised  her  as 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau      159 

we  passed  through  them.  She  caught  my  arm 
as  one  tried  to  peep  under  her  capuchin  and 
I  brushed  him  away,  and  we  hurried  along  to- 
gether till  we  reached  the  Pont  Neuf,  when 
she  walked  more  slowly  and  began  to  explain 
the  adventure  on  which  we  were  embarked. 

The  secret  of  the  scandalous  mechanism  in 
the  King's  baths  was  out  at  last.  The  Duchesse 
d'Etampes  had  discovered  it.  The  invention 
had  been  Rosso's,  and  delighted  to  find  a  vul- 
nerable point  in  Catherine's  favourite,  the 
Duchess  began  her  attack.  She  was  loud  in 
her  denunciation  of  so  dishonourable  a  con- 
trivance. Never  would  she  again  set  foot 
within  the  bath  house,  never  be  placated  until 
the  mirrors  and  Rosso  were  removed  from 
their  positions. 

The  King  was  something  of  a  tease,  and  find- 
ing that  the  Court  ladies  were  really  annoyed, 
and  the  Duchess  in  a  pet,  he  carried  the  jest 
still  further  and  averred  that  he  had  introduced 
Cellini  into  the  mystery  in  order  that  he  might 
celebrate  the  charms  of  the  fairest  of  the  fair 
by  reproducing  them  in  his  Nymph  of  Fon- 
tainebleau. 

"  Oh  !  the  insult  !  "  I  exclaimed,  my  cheeks 
growing  hot  as  I  realised  that  I  was  about  to 
hear  the  branding  of  my  own  infamy.  "  Were 


160  Renaissance  Chateaux 

not  all  those  noble  ladies  beside  themselves  with 
rage  and  mortification  that  they  had  been  sub- 
mitted to  such  indignity  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Diane  de  Poitiers ;  "  on 
the  contrary  they  are  each  and  all  beside  them- 
selves with  intense  desire  to  be  the  one  selected 
by  Cellini  as  the  fairest.  It  is  the  one  subject 
of  conversation  ;  nothing  else  is  talked  about 
among  the  ladies,  and  Prince  Henri  says  wagers 
are  being  laid  by  the  men,  and  that  the  bets  are 
nearly  even  on  the  Duchess  and  myself." 

I  groaned  aloud.  "  And  you  are  calm,  you 
are  not  distracted  by  this  monstrous  iniquity. 
You  can  forgive  the  King  ? " 

"  Certainly,  for  I  am  perfectly  sure  of  my 
triumph." 

The  senechale  said  this  with  serene  exulta- 
tion. It  was  plain  that  she  was  not  offended 
by  the  King's  dastardly  act,  and  that  she  did 
not  shrink  from  the  possibility  of  having  her 
own  nude  portrait  adorn  the  portal  of  the  pal- 
ace. If  she  had  not  been  so  preoccupied  she 
would  have  read  my  stupefaction  in  my  face, 
but  she  continued  with  perfect  unconsciousness. 
"  I  have  determined  to  make  sure  of  my  reput- 
ation as  the  most  beautiful  woman  at  Court. 
I  will  see  what  Cellini  has  done,  and  will  then 
know  what  course  to  pursue.  As  I  may  not 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau      161 

wish  it  known  that  I  have  visited  him,  I  have 
left  my  servants  to  wait  my  devotion  at  the 
church  and  have  asked  you  to  escort  me  to  his 
studio." 

I  endeavoured  to  dissuade  her  from  the  en- 
terprise, telling  her  that  the  Tour  de  Nesle, 
where  Cellini  had  installed  his  workmen,  had 
now  a  worse  reputation  than  in  the  old  days 
when  the  wicked  Queen  Jeanne  lured  her  lovers 
thither  at  night  and  had  them  sewn  up  in 
sacks  and  thrown  into  the  Seine  in  the  early 
dawn. 

But  Diane  de  Poitiers  is  too  resolute  a  wo- 
man and  too  confident  of  her  own  judgment  to 
be  lightly  dissuaded.  I  saw  that  my  argu- 
ments troubled  her  mind,  for  her  colour  came 
and  went,  but  she  walked  on  none  the  less. 
And  now  we  had  crossed  the  bridge  and  were 
threading  a  lonely  path  between  the  castle  wall 
and  the  river.  It  was  a  regular  coupe-gorge, 
which  I  should  not  like  to  have  followed  at 
night. 

I  was  surprised  to  see  waiting  just  where 
the  wall  turned  from  the  river  and  led  to  the 
entrance  of  the  castle,  yet  so  ambushed  as  not 
to  be  seen  from  the  gate,  a  lady's  litter  between 
two  handsome  horses,  whose  heads  were  holden 
by  grooms.  As  my  lady  was  more  anxious 


1 62  Renaissance  Chateaux 

not  to  be  noticed  by  these  men  than  to  ascert- 
ain who  they  were  we  dipped  by  a  path  which 
led  down  to  a  small  boat-landing  below  the 
bank  and  so  avoided  them,  and  came  up  a 
little  beyond,  approaching  the  castle  from  the 
other  direction.  The  gate  to  the  great  court 
was  wide  open  and  we  went  in  unchallenged, 
for  Cellini  was  not  the  only  dweller. 

We  walked  across  the  open  space  to  the 
donjon-keep,  whose  lower  story  Cellini  used 
as  a  foundry,  and  where  some  of  his  Italian 
apprentices  were  tending  the  furnaces.  They 
showed  us  a  staircase  which  led  to  the  atelier 
of  the  master,  or  rather  to  a  little  anteroom 
opening  into  his  studio.  We  were  admitted 
to  this  waiting-room  by  a  sullen,  black-eyed 
girl,  very  much  down  at  the  heel,  and  as  full 
of  malice  and  envy  as  a  monkey  is  of  tricks. 
She  was  Cellini's  model  and  he  had  named  her 
Scorzone,  "the  little  serpent." 

When  we  asked  for  her  master  she  ex- 
claimed, "  So  here  is  another  of  them,"  and 
grumbled  something  beneath  her  breath  about 
fine  ladies  who  took  the  bread  out  of  poor 
girls'  mouths. 

"  What  are  you  saying,  my  girl  ?  "  the  sene- 
chale  demanded  in  her  grand  manner,  and 
Scorzone  muttered  that  a  fine  lady  had  just 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau     163 

been  there  who  wished  to  pose  for  her  master's 
Nymph  of  Fontainebleau.  She  came  with  the 
perfumer,  who  said  she  was  one  of  his  work  girls. 

"Then  why  do  you  think  she  was  a  lady?" 
Madame  asked. 

"  Because  she  offered  to  pose  without  money. 
I  put  it  to  your  ladyship,  if  women  like  you  do 
this,  how  shall  we  make  our  living?" 

"  You  are  very  presuming,"  replied  the  sene- 
chale,  "  to  take  it  for  granted  that  I  wish  to 
pose  or  that  I  am  ^grande  dame.  Am  I  dressed 
like  one  ?" 

The  girl  nodded  and  pointed  to  Diane  de 
Poitiers'  hands,  laden  with  rings  which  she 
had  forgotten  to  remove.  "  The  other  was 
dressed  like  a  work  girl,  but  she  wore  jewels, 
too, — blue  ones  in  her  ears  as  big  as  cherries." 

Madame  Diane  started  and  murmured, 
"  Sapphires ! "  Turning  to  Scorzone  she 
asked,  "Did  your  master  engage  her?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  the  girl  replied  ;  "  I  did 
not  hear  his  answer." 

"  Tell  him  then  that  a  lady  would  have 
speech  with  him." 

Scorzone  entered  the  studio  and  the  sene- 
chale  whispered  to  me:  "It  must  have  been 
the  Duchesse  d'Etampes.  No  one  else  has 
sapphire  earrings  of  that  size.  So  the  same 


164  Renaissance  Chateaux 

idea  has  occurred  to  her  and  she  has  forestalled 
me."  With  a  look  of  determination  Diane 
flung  open  the  studio  door  and  entered.  Cel- 
lini was  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room 
and  Scorzone  was  chattering  with  might  and 
main.  Apparently  there  was  no  one  else  in 
the  studio. 

"  Another  model,"  said  the  girl,  "  who  wishes 
to  pose  for  Monsieur.  What  has  brought 
them  all  at  once,  like  a  plague  of  locusts?" 

"  Messer  Cellini,"  exclaimed  the  senechale 
proudly,  "  I  have  not  come  to  offer  myself  as 
a  model ;  on  the  contrary,  I  am  here  to  see 
your  admirable  work,  with  a  view  to  possess- 
ing an  example  thereof,  if  I  may  be  so 
fortunate." 

"  Out  of  the  room,  baggage  ! "  cried  Cellini  ; 
"  can  you  not  discern  a  lady  when  you  see 
her?"  Bowing  low  he  added,  "The  girl  has 
been  exasperated  because  a  fair  unknown,  pos- 
sibly a  princess  in  disguise,  has  done  me  the 
honour  to  request  me  to  reproduce  her  charms." 

The  artist  was  evidently  flattered.  He 
swelled  and  strutted  and  glanced  from  out  the 
corner  of  his  eye  to  see  how  his  new  guest  was 
impressed.  I  was  filled  with  admiration  for 
the  adroit  manner  in  which  my  patroness  saw 
through  and  cajoled  the  man. 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau      165 

"A  princess!  But  the  incomparable  Ben- 
venuto  Cellini  must  be  overwhelmed  by  such 
compliments.  Was  the  lady  as  beautiful  as 
noble,  of  such  charms,  for  instance,  as  to  be 
serviceable  for  the  bas-relief  which  I  see  yon- 
der of  a  superb  reclining  figure  ?" 

"  It  was  that  very  work  for  which  she  wished 
to  pose,"  said  Cellini.  "  It  is  still  unfinished, 
as  you  see,  merely  a  maqiiette  for  the  nymph 
which  I  design  for  the  gateway  of  the  palace 
of  Fontainebleau.  I  must  correct  its  faults  by 
study  of  some  really  beautiful  figure." 

"  Unfinished  !  "  exclaimed  Diane  de  Poitiers. 
"  What  more  remains  to  be  done  ?  What 
woman  can  be  beautiful  enough  to  correct  the 
ideals  of  genius  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  told  the  little  lady,"  he 
cried,  for  Madame  Diane's  gratifying  appreci- 
ation had  thrown  him  entirely  off  his  guard. 
"  I  said  to  her,  'You  are  very  pretty.  For 
certain  subjects  of  a  more  trivial  nature — say 
for  a  shepherdess  in  porcelain — you  would  be 
charming.  But  for  a  grand  conception  like 
this,  where  the  entire  figure  is  modelled  on 
great  lines  —  sumptuous,  regal,  rhythmical, 
lithe — for  a  goddess,  in  brief,  you  would  not 
do.'" 

As    Cellini    said    this   there   was  a   distinct 


1 66  Renaissance  Chateaux 

rustle,  the  frou  frou  of  silk,  behind  a  green 
curtain  which  was  stretched  across  a  corner  of 
the  room.  I  looked  keenly  at  Madame  Diane. 
There  was  the  least  possible  flicker  of  triumph 
at  the  corner  of  her  mouth.  We  each  under- 
stood who  was  hidden  there. 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Messer  Cellini,"  my 
patroness  replied.  "  Never  change  this  ex- 
quisite conception.  Carry  it  out  as  it  is  and 
it  cannot  fail  to  win  not  only  the  approval  of 
the  King,  but  also  of  the  world.  I  congrat- 
ulate you,  for  your  fame  is  assured." 

Carried  away  by  his  enthusiasm  for  his  art 
and  by  his  all-engrossing  egotism  Cellini  had 
entirely  forgotten  ^hat  he  had  hastily  hidden 
his  first  visitor  beuind  the  curtain.  She  was 
still  in  his  mind,  but  as  a  disturbing  influence 
of  which  he  wished  to  rid  himself.  Charmed 
at  feeling  himself  understood,  he  unbosomed 
himself  more  frankly.  "  Madame  comprehends 
the  proper  function  of  patronage.  It  is  not  to 
fetter  genius  but  to  give  it  wings. 

"  A  sculptor  can  best  achieve  his  ideals," 
Cellini  continued,  "  when  he  is  assisted  by 
visible  forms,  but  they  must  be  such  as  he  has 
already  determined  upon,  in  harmony  with  his 
conception,  aiding  not  distracting  his  thought." 

Then  in  the  midst  of  her  malice  this  wonder- 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau     167 

ful  woman  saw  her  opportunity  to  do  a  kind 
action,  and  she  said  quickly  :  "  And  what  more 
serviceable  model  could  you  find,  Mcsser  Cel- 
lini, than  that  superbly  formed  girl  who  ad- 
mitted us  ?  No  woman  of  our  class  could  have 
such  a  figure.  Her  stately  carriage  and  mag- 
nificent limbs  come  from  generations  of  labour 
in  the  open  air.  She  would  carry  a  cask  of  wine 
on  her  head  as  easily  and  as  regally  as  a  queen 
could  wear  her  crown.  Surely  you  saw  no  one 
so  beautiful  in  the  baths  of  Fontainebleau." 

"  She  is  a  fairish  wench,"  Cellini  admitted. 
"  I  had  already  thought  to  finish  the  figure 
from  her;  but  I  know  not  what  your  ladyship 
means  by  the  baths  of  Fontainebleau."  Cel- 
lini's sincerity  was  unmistakable,  and  con- 
vinced us  that  the  report  that  he  had  been 
admitted  to  the  baths  was  only  a  practical  joke 
of  his  frolic  majesty,  King  Francis. 

The  senechale  bit  her  lip,  but  recovered 
herself  quickly,  and  asked  what  accessories 
were  to  be  added. 

"  The  nymph,"  the  sculptor  replied,  "  is  to 
be  leaning  upon  a  Greek  vase,  from  which 
flows  the  f on  fame  dc  bcl  can  that  gives  its 
name  to  the  palace.  She  is  the  genius  of  the 
place." 

"  Excellent.     And  how  will  you  fill  the  space 


1 68  Renaissance  Chateaux 

between  her  form  and  the  half  circle  of  the 
arch  ? " 

"  I  have  not  as  yet  decided,  my  lady,  but  that 
is  a  minor  matter." 

"  True,  but  since  the  forest  of  Fontainebleau 
is  the  best  royal  hunting-ground  in  the  king- 
dom, would  it  not  be  well  to  suggest  animals 
of  the  chase  ?  The  stag,  you  know,  is  one  of 
the  King's  emblems." 

"  The  idea  is  not  a  bad  one,"  Cellini  replied 
thoughtfully,  pinching  the  wax  rapidly  into 
shape.  "  A  stag's  head  would  make  a  good 
central  ornament,  with  the  antlers  cutting  the 

o 

curve  of  the  lunette,  so.  The  arm  of  the 
nymph  could  be  thrown  around  its  neck.  In 
this  space  I  will  work  little  fawns  in  half  relief, 
with  some  wild  boars  and  other  game  in  lower 
relief,  and  on  the  other  side  what  shall  we 
have  to  balance  them  ?  " 

"  The  King  is  very  fond  of  his  dogs," 
Madame  Diane  replied.  "  If  their  portraits 
are  in  the  composition  the  Dauphiness  will 
also  be  pleased.  And  if  by  any  impossible 
evil  chance  the  King  does  not  honour  this 
beautiful  work  of  art  with  his  approval,  I 
promise  you  that  if  it  is  carried  out  as  a  Diana 
I  will  purchase  it,  for  as  my  name-goddess  she 
would  well  befit  my  Chateau  of  Anet." 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau     169 

Curiosity  had  been  surging  in  Cellini's  mind 
for  some  time,  and  he  was  overjoyed  to  find 
that  his  patroness  was,  as  he  had  begun  to 
suspect,  none  other  than  the  renowned  Diane 
de  Poitiers.  She  examined  his  other  work, 
ordered  a  gold  and  crystal  vase,  for  which  she 
paid  him  in  advance  with  gold  pieces,  and 
Cellini  bowed  us  to  the  door,  all  smiles  and 
homage,  but  won  more  by  her  consummate 
tact  than  by  her  largess. 

Scorzone  opened  the  door  for  us.  She 
had  been  listening  there  all  the  time,  and  she 
ran  after  us  when  her  master  was  out  of 
sight,  overtaking  us  as  we  turned  into  the 
lonely  walk.  "  Gracious  lady,  forgive  my 
evil  tongue,"  she  cried,  falling  on  her  knees 
and  pressing  Diane's  hand  to  her  heart.  "  You 
have  done  me  this  day  a  kindness  which  you 
little  realise,  and  which  I  can  never  repay. 
It  is  not  the  money  that  he  gives  me  for 
posing,  not  that  I  care  to  be  known  as  the 
most  beautiful  model  he  could  find  for  his 
famous  statue.  I  hate  posing ;  it  is  a  vile 
trade.  But  I  love,  gracious  lady,  and  I  must 
be  all  in  all  to  my  lover,  or  I  die." 

"  I  knew  it,"  said  Diane,  yielding  her  deli- 
cate hand  to  be  fondled,  "  I  understand ;  I 
also  am  a  woman." 


1 70  Renaissance  Chateaux 

So  I  saw  her  to  her  litter,  and  we  parted, 
believing  that  she  had  triumphed,  but  things 
came  not  out  exactly  as  she  had  figured.  I 
finished  my  work  at  St.  Germain  and  made 
my  report  to  my  patroness  at  Fontainebleau. 
I  found  her  serenely  happy  and  Prince  Henri 
in  a  merry  mood,  for  he  had  seen  Cellini's 
Nymph,  and  knew  that  it  was  indeed  a  Diana, 
though  this  fact  was  not  yet  announced.  He 
knew,  too,  that  the  King  had  ordered  its  im- 
mediate execution  to  honour  the  magnificent 
fete  to  be  given  in  welcome  of  the  Emperor 
Charles  V.  The  procession  would  enter  the 
palace  of  Fontainebleau  by  the  archway  lead- 
ing to  the  Oval  Court,  which  must  at  once 
receive  its  crowning  ornament. 

The  King  had  made  Primaticcio  master  of 
the  fete,  with  full  liberty  to  design  the  cos- 
tumes of  the  Court  and  all  the  triumphal 
arches  of  stucco  which  were  to  be  set  along 
the  avenue,  leading  up  to  the  permanent  arch 
with  its  much-talked-of  Nymph.  Curiosity  was 
intense,  and,  strange  to  say,  the  partisans  of 
the  Duchess  seemed  as  confident  of  her  tri- 
umph as  those  of  Diane  de  Poitiers. 

"  I  am  not  altogether  satisfied  with  the  bas- 
relief,"  Henri  admitted.  "  The  face  lacks  the 
intelligence  and  charm  of  my  Diane.  Some 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau     171 

day  I  must  have  for  myself  a  portrait  statue 
which  shall  do  her  full  justice.  I  have  been 
speaking  to  the  senechale  of  this,  and  have 
decided  to  send  you  to  Italy  to  fit  yourself  for 
the  commission." 

My  delight  and  gratitude  may  be  imagined. 
Having  received  a  purse  generously  filled,  I 
took  leave  of  my  kind  patron  and  patroness, 
and  walked  upon  air.  Such  a  pavement  is  not 
of  the  most  solid  foundation,  but  this  I  had 
yet  to  learn.  As  I  was  crossing  the  garden, 
whom  should  I  encounter  but  the  Duchesse 
d'Etampes. 

"Well  met,  Jean  Goujon!"  she  exclaimed. 
"  I  have  just  been  talking  of  you  to  Messer 
Primaticcio,  and  if  you  are  not  too  busy  he 
has  some  little  work  for  you  in  connection 
with  the  triumphal  arches  which  are  to  be  put 
up  in  honour  of  the  fete." 

She  seemed  to  have  forgotten  all  the  slight 
I  had  put  upon  her  at  our  last  meeting,  and  as 
it  is  my  nature  to  be  civil,  and  to  wish  to  im- 
prove my  opportunities,  I  replied  that  I  was 
off  presently  for  Italy,  but  that  I  was  in  no 
haste,  and  was  willing  to  serve  her  before  I 
left.  With  that  she  enlightened  me  on  what 

O 

I  was  expected  to  do.  Very  adroitly  the 
Duchess  had  persuaded  the  King  that  Cellini's 


1 72  Renaissance  Chateaux 

Nymph  could  be  better  cast  at  the  foundries 
which  had  been  set  up  at  Fontainebleau  than 
at  the  Tour  de  Nesle,  and  he  had  signed  an 
order  to  have  the  clay  model  delivered  to 
Primaticcio  for  execution. 

That  artist  had  sent  his  carriers  for  it,  and 
was  hourly  expecting  its  arrival.  And  now 
appeared  the  craft  of  the  Duchess.  Before 
submitting  the  model  to  Primaticcio  to  be  cast 
it  was  to  be  carried  to  an  obscure  room  in 
the  palace,  where  I  was  desired  to  cut  away 
the  stag's  head,  boars,  and  dogs, — all,  in  fact, 
which  gave  the  Nymph  the  attributes  of  a 
Diana,  and  substitute  instead  those  of  Venus. 
After  having  accomplished  this  dastardly  act, 
I  was  to  be  well  paid  and  to  take  myself  to 
Italy  with  what  haste  I  might.  Primaticcio 
would  swear  truthfully  that  he  had  cast  the 
bas-relief  as  he  received  it,  and  the  King 
would  suppose  that  the  alterations  were  Cel- 
lini's own.  No  doubt  that  artist  might  object, 
but  he  would  not  know  of  the  mutilation  of 
his  work  until  after  the  fete  had  taken  place 
and  the  triumph  of  the  Duchess  was  secure. 

Filled  with  indignation,  I  at  once  assured 
the  Duchess  that  such  conduct  would  be 
dishonourable,  and  that  nothing  could  induce 
me  to  take  any  part  in  it. 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau     173 

With  that  she  poured  upon  me  the  vials  of 
her  wrath,  and  I  fled  from  her  presence. 

I  could  not  endure  that  a  work  of  art 
should  be  so  maltreated,  and  I  went  at  once 
to  the  Tour  de  Nesle  to  warn  Cellini  of  what 
was  intended.  I  found  only  his  model,  Scor- 
zone,  who  told  me  that  the  King's  order  had 
come  for  the  Nymph,  but  that  her  master  had 
refused  to  deliver  it,  saying  he  would  cast 
the  bas-relief  himself,  in  despite  of  King  or 
devil.  He  had  gone  forth  to  Fontainebleau 
in  a  towering  rage,  averring  that  he  well  knew 
to  whom  he  owed  this  ill  turn.  Scorzone 
feared  that  he  might  commit  murder,  for  be- 
fore going  he  had  ground  a  small  chisel  to 
a  sharp  point  and  fitted  it  to  a  handle,  so  that 
it  made  an  excellent  poniard,  and  this  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  he  was  already  provided  with 
two  others. 

I  left  the  castle  fearing  for  Primaticcio,  but 
it  was  too  late  to  send  him  any  warning,  and 
this  tactful  gentleman  so  conciliated  the  im- 
pulsive Cellini,  that,  though  he  threatened  at 
first  to  kill  him  like  a  dog,  he  left  him  con- 
vinced that  not  Primaticcio,  but  some  other 
sculptor  had  been  suborned  by  the  Duchess 
to  do  him  this  indignity. 

Nevertheless,  Cellini  was  so  deeply  offended 


174  Renaissance  Chateaux 

that  he  left  for  Italy  immediately,  and  when 
the  King's  officers  searched  the  Tour  de 
Nesle  the  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau  could  not 
be  found,  and  Diane  de  Poitier's  ambition  to 
be  proclaimed  the  most  beautiful  woman  at 
Court  was  not  achieved. 

But  none  of  these  events  which  followed 
my  last  visit  to  Fontainebleau  were  known  to 
me  until  later.  I  had  ridden  hard  to  Paris  to 
carry  Cellini  the  news  of  the  design  against 
his  Nymph,  but  it  was  dark  when  I  reached 
the  city.  I  returned  the  horse  to  the  stable 
and  walked  to  the  Tour  de  Nesle.  On  my 
way  back  from  my  fruitless  errand,  while 
threading  the  lonely  coupe-gorge  between  the 
castle  wall  and  the  Seine,  which  I  have  al- 
ready described,  I  passed  a  man  coming  rap- 
idly from  the  opposite  direction.  He  had 
scarcely  gone  by  when  it  occurred  to  me  that 
this  might  be  Cellini  himself  returning  from 
Fontainebleau.  I  halted  and  was  just  about 
to  turn  when  a  sharp  agony  thrilled  through 
me  and  I  fell  upon  my  face  with  two  inches 
of  dagger  in  my  back  and  the  blood  from  my 
wounded  lung  spurting  from  my  mouth  and 
nostrils. 


The  Nymph  of  Fontaincbleau     1 75 


in 


HOW   THE   NYMPH   OF    FONTAINEBLEAU    BECAME 
THE    DIANA   OF    ANET 

The  steady  fortress  of  my  heart 

Seeks  not  with  towers  secured  to  be, 

The  lady  of  the  hold  thou  art 
For  'tis  of  firmness  worthy  thee. 

HENRY  II.  TO  DIANE  DE  POITIERS. 

I  MUST  have  lain  in  that  unfrequented  spot 
all  night,  for  it  was  not  until  early  dawn 
that  Amboise  Pare,  called  suddenly  to  usher  a 
new  soul  into  the  world,  and,  lighted  on  his  way 
by  a  servant  with  a  lantern,  came  upon  me  like 
a  Good  Samaritan  ;  and  being  more  interested 
in  surgery  of  my  sort  than  in  such  trifling  in 
lady's  bower,  he  let  his  expecting  patient  wait 
on  his  unexpected  one.  He  sent  his  servant 
for  a  litter,  drew  the  dagger,  staunched  and 
bandaged  the  wound,  and  did  not  leave  me 
until  he  saw  me  bestowed  in  bed  in  the  nearest 
inn. 

It  was  a  bed  which  I  did  not  leave  for 
weeks,  but  the  good  doctor  stood  by  me  until 
I  was  well  again.  In  his  excitement  and  in- 
terest in  the  physician's  problem  he  had  not 
thought  of  the  legal  one,  and  had  thrown  the 
poniard  which  had  done  the  nasty  work  far 


176  Renaissance  Chateaux 

into  the  Seine.  It  would  have  been  interest- 
ing to  have  examined  it,  and  to  have  ascer- 
tained whether  it  had  been  ground  from  a 
sculptor's  chisel  ;  but  I  shall  never  know  if 
that  prod  in  the  back  was  prompted  by  mis- 
taken professional  jealousy  or  by  the  revenge 
of  Madame  d'Etampes  through  one  of  her 
minions,  or  by  some  other  motive.  Certain 
the  blow  came  not  from  an  ordinary  high- 
wayman, for  the  purse  which  Prince  Henri  had 
given  was  safe  in  the  breast  of  my  doublet. 

As  soon  as  I  was  sufficiently  recovered  to 
travel  I  went  to  Italy,  as  I  had  intended,  re- 
turning to  France  on  the  accession  of  Henri  II. 
The  Diana  of  the  gate  and  she  of  Poitiers 
were  but  waiting  their  opportunity  to  shine 
forth  and  dazzle  all  beholders.  The  Duchesse 
d'Etampes  queened  it  for  a  few  years  with  a 
high  hand,  but  the  time  was  coming  when 
Francis  must  die,  and  the  Duchess  fled 
through  the  very  entrance  whose  ornamenta- 
tion she  had  disputed. 

But  with  the  coronation  of  Henri,  Cather- 
ine's hour  of  triumph  had  not  come.  It  was 
Diane  de  Poitiers  who,  as  the  newly  created 
Duchesse  de  Valentinois,  was  now  first  lady  of 
France.  Primaticcio  finished  for  this  new  pat- 
roness the  Salle  des  Fetes  on  which  he  had 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau     177 

long  laboured.  You  will  find  her  device,  the 
three  intertwined  crescents,  everywhere  in  its 
decoration  with  the  H  of  Henri. 

I  cannot  say  that  I  grieved  deeply  when  I 
heard  in  Rome  of  the  death  of  Kin<j  Francis, 

o 

for  now  that  Henri  II.  was  King,  I  judged 
rightly  that  my  dear  patroness  would  not  for- 
get me,  and  that  my  fortune  was  as  good  as 
made.  So  I  hastened  back  to  Paris,  and  I 
found  that  I  had  not  misjudged,  for  Diane  was 
not  satisfied  with  her  triumphs  at  Fontaine- 
bleau. Perhaps,  too,  she  was  weary  of  that 
life  of  publicity,  of  envy,  treachery,  and  con- 
stant struggle. 

Hidden  in  the  midst  of  the  forests  of  Nor- 
mandy lay  her  own  wide  estate  of  Anet,  the 
ancestral  home  of  her  late  husband,  Louis  de 
Breze,  Grand  Senechal  of  Normandie.  The 
chateau  was  a  gloomy  feudal  fortress,  teeming 
with  tragic  and  evil  memories  ;  to  blot  them 
out  Diane  completely  rebuilt  it.  Henri  had 
fulfilled  his  promise  to  bring  Frenchmen  of 
genius  to  the  front,  and  he  placed  the  recon- 
struction of  Anet  in  the  hands  of  a  coterie  of 
young  artists  of  the  National  school  who 
worked  together  with  the  utmost  harmony. 

To  this  paradise,  even  before  it  was  entirely 
completed,  Diane  de  Poitiers  would  frequently 


1 78  Renaissance  Chateaux 

resort  to  see  how  the  work  sped  ;  and  hither, 
too,  came  the  King  to  hunt  in  the  game- 
abounding  forest,  and  to  give  us  artists  praise 
and  guerdon. 

One  day  as  the  architect  Philibert  Delorme 
shewed  the  King  the  beauties  of  the  place 
Henri  asked  in  what  way  they  proposed  to 
ornament  the  gate-lodge. 

"  It  should  be  more,  sire,  than  a  simple 
lodge,"  said  Delorme,  "  for  it  forms  an  advance 
portion  of  the  centre  of  the  chateau,  and  is 
therefore  a  most  prominent  and  important 
member.  I  would  make  of  it  a  noble  arch, 
crowned  by  some  worthy  piece  of  sculpture, 
such  as  Jean  Goujon  here  is  well  prepared  to 
execute." 

"  Great  pity  it  is,"  mused  the  King,  "  that 
Cellini's  Diana  hath  so  mysteriously  disap- 
peared, else  were  it  a  fitting  ornament  for  this 
spot,  of  which  my  Diane  is  the  divinity.  Cel- 
lini doubtless  destroyed  it  in  his  anger  at 
being  set  aside.  Sorry  am  I,  for  it  is  a  great 
loss  to  the  world  that  such  a  work  of  art 
should  be  forever  hidden,  if  so  be  it  still  exists. 
Might  not  the  man  be  written  to  ?" 

But  Diane  de  Poitiers  was  of  the  mind 
that  Cellini  had  shewn  himself  so  little  able 
to  control  his  passions  that  it  were  not  wise  to 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau      179 

meddle  with    him.     And   she  so  pleased  the 
King  with  my  conceits  that   the  commission 


was  given  to  me. 


Now,  I  had  not  forgotten  that  a  statue  of 
the  Duchesse  de  Valentinois  had  been  com- 
manded from  my  hand  at  such  time  when  I 
should  judge  myself  competent  to  execute  it, 
and  being  encouraged  by  my  friends  that  the 
moment  was  come,  as  the  Duchess  was  return- 
ing to  Paris  for  a  season,  and  had  promised  to 
sit  for  me  in  the  Tour  de  Nesle,  which  was  now 
my  studio,  as  it  had  been  Cellini's,  I  at  once 
began  the  work. 

I  was  well  advanced  with  my  clay  model, 
which  at  that  time  I  thought  to  execute  in 
bronze  to  crown  the  portal  of  Anet,  when  one 
day  I  was  surprised  by  a  visit  from  Scorzone, 
Cellini's  former  model.  As  she  led  by  the 
hand  a  lusty  boy  of  four,  and  carried  in  her 
arms  another  still  younger,  I  congratulated 
her  on  having  consoled  herself  for  the  de- 
parture of  her  former  master.  She  took  fire 
at  my  jesting,  and  averred  that  she  had  never 
cared  for  Cellini,  who  was  a  very  devil.  When 
I  reminded  her  of  her  confession  to  my  patron- 
ess, that  she  only  posed  for  love,  she  cried  : 

"  But  not  for  that  man.  I  loved  his  ap- 
prentice, the  handsome  youth,  Pagolo,  but  my 


i8o  Renaissance  Chateaux 

aunt  would  not  suffer  him  to  come  near  our 
house,  and  there  was  no  way  for  me  to  come 
to  this  castle  but  as  Cellini's  model.  We 
were  poor,  and  needed  the  money  which  I 
earned  by  posing  ;  so  we  were  secretly  married." 
She  said,  too,  that  she  was  more  surprised  to 
see  me  living  than  I  to  find  her  wedded,  for 
she  believed  that  Cellini  had  killed  me. 

"  Certes,"  I  replied,  "  I  have  been  near  death 
by  the  hand  of  someone,"  and  I  related  how 
I  was  stabbed  by  the  castle  wall,  and  my 
miraculous  recovery. 

"  But  how  got  you  out  of  your  grave  ?"  she 
asked,  in  all  simplicity.  And  when  I  replied 
that  I  had  not  been  buried,  she  insisted  that  it 
was  so,  and  that  her  husband  had  been  my 
sexton.  He  had  seen  me  of  late  coming  and 
going  from  the  Tour  de  Nesle,  and  believed 
me  to  be  a  spirit.  She,  having  heard  that  the 
castle  was  occupied  by  a  sculptor,  and  being  of 
a  braver  spirit  than  her  husband,  had  come  to 
investigate.  So  I  begged  her  to  bring  him,  and 
promised  that  he  should  not  be  punished  if  he 
would  tell  me  how  and  where  he  had  buried  me. 

Pagolo  came,  and  tremblingly  related  how 
Cellini  had  gone  to  Fontainebleau  with  his 

o 

daggers,  vowing  to  murder  the  accomplice  of 
the  Duchesse  d'Etampes,  who  thought  to  mu- 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau     181 

tilate  his  great  work.  On  his  return  Cellini 
was  still  more  terrible,  and  bade  his  apprentices 
dig  a  grave  in  the  middle  of  the  tennis-court. 
Pagolo  assisted  at  this  work,  making  it  long 
and  deep,  and  was  then  ordered  to  go  to  his 
room  for  the  night.  Later,  when  he  would 
have  crept  down  to  spy,  for  his  window  was  so 
placed  that  he  could  not  see  the  grave,  he 
found  that  he  was  locked  in,  but  all  night  long 
he  saw  flashes  of  light  in  the  court  and  heard 
his  master  moving  about  in  his  atelier. 

In  the  morning  Cellini  unlocked  the  door 
and  bade  him  come  down  and  fill  up  the  grave. 
It  was  already  partly  filled,  so  he  could  not 
see  the  body,  and  Cellini  stood  over  him  until 
he  had  trodden  it  down  well,  and  dragged 
some  heavy  broken  castings  upon  the  spot. 
Then  the  artist  took  leave  of  him  and  of  a 
fellow-apprentice,  saying  that  he  left  his  house 
in  their  charge,  as  he  was  going  to  Italy  ;  but 
he  bound  them  with  a  great  curse  not  to  vio- 
late the  grave  or  inform  concerning  it,  and 
they  had  not  done  so.  The  King's  officers 
came  the  next  day,  and  turned  them  out  of 
the  castle,  making  a  great  pother  over  the 
works  of  art  on  which  Cellini  had  been  en- 
gaged, but  which  he  had  laden  upon  mules 
and  carried  away  with  him. 


1 82  Renaissance  Chateaux 

i 

Light  began  to  break  upon  my  mind,  and  I 
bade  Pagolo  dig  at  the  spot  which  he  had 
indicated.  At  first  he  was  very  unwilling  to 
do  this,  but  when  I  set  the  example  by  falling 
to  myself,  he  aided  me,  crossing  himself  and 
praying  for  mercy.  At  the  end  of  a  little 
while  we  came  upon  a  plank  which  I  could 
not  compel  Pagolo  to  lift,  but  Scorzone,  being 
filled  with  curiosity,  got  a  rope  around  it 
while  I  pried  it  up  with  a  lever,  and  Pagolo, 
from  the  other  end  of  the  court,  with  his  eyes 
starting  from  his  head  and  his  teeth  chattering 
with  terror,  took  hold  with  us  on  the  rope,  and 
together  we  pulled  up  the  plank.  I  cannot  say 
that  I  was  greatly  surprised  by  what  I  found ;  for 
there,  quite  uninjured  by  her  long  retirement, 
save  that  the  bronze  was  a  bit  corroded,  was 
the  lost  Nymph,  Cellini's  Diana.  We  had 
in  the  other  workmen  and  lifted  her  from  her 
sepulchre,  and  then  I  hastened  to  tell  the 
King  and  the  Duchesse  de  Valentinois  of  her 
joyous  resurrection. 

Philibert  Delorme  came  down  from  Anet 
to  look  upon  her,  and  at  once  designed  his 
entrance  to  the  chateau  to  accommodate 
the  beautiful  bas-relief.  He  arranged  also  a 
mechanical  clock  for  the  gate  lodge,  consist- 
ing of  a  bronze  stag  which  lifted  his  hoof  and 


ENTRANCE  TO  CHATEAU  OF  ANET. 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau     183 

struck  the  hours  upon  a  gong,  while  two  dogs 
barked  the  quarters. 

In  the  general  rejoicing  there  was  no  longer 
any  question  of  my  Diana,  and  now  I  fan- 
cied that  I  had  for  the  third  time  wrought 
my  own  undoing.  But  in  this  I  did  my  dear 
patroness  wrong,  for  she  came  to  me  and 
commanded  its  execution  in  the  finest  of  mar- 
ble for  the  chief  fountain  of  the  garden.  So 
there  were  both  of  the  Dianas  at  Anet,  and 
I  have  never  heard  of  any  bickerings  or  in- 
trigues betwixt  them,  as  between  the  living 
beauties  of  Fontainebleau. 

This  was  by  no  means  my  last  commission 
from  the  Duchesse  de  Valentinois  ;  for  after 
we  had  completed  Anet  the  King  made  her 
a  present  of  the  chateau  of  Chenonceau,  in 
order  that  she  might  be  near  him  when  the 
Court  was  in  Touraine.  Philibert  Delorme 
was  given  its  restoration,  and  built  the  six- 
arched  bridge  for  the  foundation  of  the  beau- 
tiful wing  which  spans  the  river,  and  merry 
were  the  days  which  we  spent  together  there. 

From  Fontainebleau  to  Chenonceau,  from 
Chenonceau  to  Anet,  the  King  followed  his 
enchantress,  Diane.  "  I  supplicate  you,"  he 
wrote  her  near  the  close  of  his  life,  "to  re- 
member him  who  has  never  known  but  one 


1 84  Renaissance  Chateaux 

God  and  one  love,  and  be  certain  that  you 
will  never  be  ashamed  of  having  given  me 
the  name  of  servitor,  which  I  entreat  you  will 
preserve  for  me  forever." 

Their  union  should  have  been  blessed  by 
the  Church,  for  the  Italian  alliance  into  which 
Francis  forced  his  son  was  no  true  marriage. 
God  absolve  his  soul  from  that  crime  !  None 
of  the  children  that  came  of  it  were  happy  in 
their  lives,  while  the  horror  and  shame  which 
Catherine  brought  as  her  dowry  to  France 
were  incalculable. 

I  do  not  justify  Diana  and  Henri.  They 
chose  to  have  their  paradise  in  this  world, 
and  to  such  I  know  the  heavenly  paradise 
is  not  promised,  and  their  consciences  were 
not  at  rest,  so  that  they  got  not  that  poor 
earthly  bliss  for  which  they  bartered  their 
souls'  salvation ;  but  when  I  think  of  them 
my  heart  is  filled  with  pity — for  they  loved 
each  other. 

NOTE. — The  King  wore  Diana's  colours  when  he  fell  mortally 
wounded  by  Montgomery's  lance  in  the  fatal  joust.  And  Catherine 
de'  Medici's  first  act,  while  her  husband  lay  dying,  was  to  send  to 
Diana  and  demand  the  keys  of  Chenonceau.  She  had  always 
coveted  it,  and  was  deeply  humiliated  and  enraged  when  Henri  con- 
ferred it  upon  her  rival,  with  the  title  of  Duchesse  de  Valentinois. 

Diana  sent  the  keys,  saying  to  the  messenger,  "Then  the  King 
is  dead,  for  else  she  had  not  dared  demand  them." 

Catherine  made  a  pretence  of  an  exchange  by  offering  her  Chau- 


DIANA  DE  POITIERS,   BY  JEAN  QOUJON. 

?ROM  THE  CHATEAU   OF  ANET,  NOW  IN  THE  LOUVRE. 

(By  permission  of  Levy,  Paris.) 


The  Nymph  of  Fontainebleau     185 

mont,  but  Diane  retired  to  Anet,  where  she  lived  for  seven   years 
longer,  dying  at  the  age  of  sixty-seven.     Brantome  wrote  of  her  : 

"  I  saw  Madame  the  Duchesse  de  Valentinois  at  the  age  of  sixty- 
six  years  as  beautiful  of  countenance,  as  youthful  in  appearance,  and 
as  lovely  as  at  thirty.  Six  months  before  she  died  she  was  so 
fascinating  that  a  heart  of  stone  must  have  loved  her,  and  though 
but  a  short  time  before,  while  riding  as  admirably  as  ever,  her 
horse  slipped  on  the  paving  stones  of  Orleans  and  rolled  upon 
her.  And  with  all  the  pain  which  she  endured  from  the  breaking 
her  leg  at  this  time  it  would  have  seemed  that  her  beauty  would 
have  suffered,  but  on  the  contrary,  her  loveliness,  her  grace,  her 
majesty,  her  beauty  were  exactly  what  they  had  always  been ; 
so  that  I  honestly  believe  that  if  this  lady  had  lived  for  a  century 
longer  she  would  never  have  grown  old.  And  oh  !  the  pity,  that 
the  earth  covers  her  beautiful  body  ! " 


CHAPTER  VII 
A  LILY   AMONG   THORNS 

On  the  borders  of  the  Cher 
In  a  valley  green  and  fair, 
From  the  bosom  of  the  stream 
Like  the  castle  of  a  dream, 
High  into  the  fields  of  air 
The  chateau  of  Chenonceau 
Lifts  its  glittering  vanes  in  clusters. 
Six  stone  arches  of  a  bridge 
Into  channels  six  divide 
The  swift  river  in  its  flow 
And  upon  their  granite  ridge 
Hold  this  beautiful  chateau. 

ANTOINE  MARIE  LEMIERRE. 

T  I  LIES  in  stone  are  the  white  chateaux  of 
J— '  Touraine,  built  of  its  glistening  white 
stone,  and  elegant  beyond  compare  with  any 
other  of  the  palaces  of  France  in  their  exquisite 
grace.  Garden  lilies,  are  St.  Aignan  and 
Usse,  but  Azay  is  a  water  lily,  and  the  taper- 
ing turrets  of  Chenonceau  shoot  upward  like 
the  stalks  of  aquatic  plants  from  the  River 

1 86 


CHA 


The  Chateau  of  Chenonceau 


A  Lily  among  Thorns  187 

Cher,  and  the  curving  foliations  of  its  carvings 
rest  as  lightly  on  the  groined  arches  as  a  clus- 
ter of  lotus  blossoms  on  their  slender  stems. 
Two  lily  maids  watched  me  as  I  chiselled  for 
the  Duchesse  de  Valentinois  that  charmed 
summer  of  1557,  before  the  ill-fated  jousting 
which  ended  all  her  joy.  One  was  but  fifteen, 
and  life  for  her  was  full  of  happiness  and  love, 
for  she  was  Marie  Stuart,  the  young  Queen  of 
Scotland,  betrothed  to  our  Dauphin,  Francis. 
The  Court  was  at  Amboise,  and  she  was 
often  there  with  the  royal  family,  but  Diane 
had  claimed  her  for  a  long  visit,  and  her  uncle, 
the  Cardinal  of  Lorraine,  had  brought  her  to 
us  with  her  young  friend  Catherine  of  Cleves, 
my  lily  of  all  lilies  and,  alas,  a  lily  among 
thorns.  Often  my  mallet  fell  to  my  side  and 
my  chisel  ceased  its  ringing  while  my  eyes  de- 
voured their  graceful  movements  and  my  ears 
their  musical  laughter  with  never  satiated  ap- 
petite. I  well  remember  the  morning  of  their 
arrival.  A  gay  cavalcade  came  rushing  to 
the  door,  for  the  litde  princes  and  princesses 
mounted  on  the  richly-trapped  Shetland  ponies 
which  the  young  Scottish  Queen  had  given 
them,  had  escorted  her  to  the  chateau.  They 
were  to  return  that  evening  to  Amboise,  leav- 
ing the  two  girls,  and  Diane  had  planned  so 


1 88  Renaissance  Chateaux 

many  ingenious  amusements  and  occupations 
for  them  that  their  visit  was  one  continual  fete. 
I  know  that  it  was  the  part  of  policy  for  her  to 
attach  to  herself  the  affection  of  the  future 
King  and  Queen,  but  I  think  that  Diane  really 
loved  the  young  girl,  for  I  was  working  on  the 
chimney  piece  of  the  salon  and  I  saw  the  tears 
well  to  her  eyes  as  she  watched  the  child- 
lovers  exchanging  their  little  confidences  in 
a  deep  embrasured  window.  "  Ah !  Jean 
Goujon,"  she  said  to  me,  "  to  be  able  like 
those  children  to  satisfy  at  the  same  time  the 
heart  and  the  conscience,  to  possess  both  the 
joys  of  love  and  of  religion,  that  is  more  than 
one  can  expect  in  this  world  ;  it  is  Heaven." 

"  It  may  be  so,  gracious  lady,"  I  replied  ; 
"but  I  find  this  world  a  very  good  place  with- 
out either  of  those  consolations,  for  I  have  no 
time  for  religion,  no,  nor  for  love  neither  !  " 

I  was  but  a  young  man  still,  you  see,  and 
my  art  was  all  in  all  to  me.  I  had  yet  to  learn 
that  a  man  cannot  truly  live  without  the  ex- 
perience of  these  two  primal  passions  ;  but  the 
hour  had  struck  when  both  were  to  take  pos- 
session of  me.  Even  as  I  spoke  I  was  aware 
of  a  pair  of  dark  eyes  looking  at  me  with 
grave  disapproval.  They  were  the  eyes  of 
Catherine  of  Cleves,  the  tenderest  eyes  in  the 


A  Lily  among  Thorns  189 

world,  full  of  reproachful  sorrow  for  my  igno- 
rance and  lack. 

"  So,"  cried  my  patroness,  "  you  care  only 
for  the  material  things  of  this  present  life — to 
become  rich,  to  be  praised  by  blockheads." 

"  Pardon  me,  dear  lady,  I  have  no  time  for 
money-making  or  for  currying  favour.  All  my 
work  is  for  immortality." 

"Immortality,"  she  mused,  "and  what  is 
that?  Is  the  good  opinion  of  future  ages, 
which  we  can  never  hear,  so  much  better  than 
the  pleasant  things  with  which  our  friends  can 
flatter  us  ?  " 

"Nay,"  I  made  answer;  "I  care  nothing 
what  others  may  say  ;  all  my  care  is  to  do  my 
work  well." 

She  flushed  as  deeply  as  though  I  had 
meant  to  reprove  her,  and  the  Cardinal  of 
Lorraine  turned  upon  me  sharply  :  "  What  you 
care  for,  then,  is  your  own  good  opinion." 

"Yes,  your  Eminence." 

"  A  cheap  reward,"  he  sneered. 

"  But  the  hardest  of  all  to  win,"  said  Diane. 
"  Ah  !  Your  Eminence,  you  have  praised  my 
chateau,  but  as  I  lie  awake  at  night  and 
listen  to  the  babbling  of  the  river  against  the 
arches,  to  the  wailing  of  the  weathercocks  in 
the  wind,  and  the  sobbing  of  the  rain,  they 


i9°  Renaissance  Chateaux 

repeat  the  same  refrain  :  '  A  certain  woman 
built  her  house  upon  the  sands,  and  the  rain 
descended  and  the  floods  came,  and  the  winds 
blew,  and  beat  upon  that  house,  and ' — your 
Eminence  knows  what  happened." 

"  Surely  Philibert  Delorme  is  too  skilful  an 
engineer,"  the  Cardinal  began, — but  he  saw 
that  she  did  not  wish  to  be  misunderstood,— 
and  added  in  his  soft,  purring  way,  "  Be  con- 
tent with  the  approval  of  Heaven,  which  the 
Church  assures  you." 

The  conversation  had  glided  into  deep  chan- 
nels. I  felt  I  had  no  right  to  listen,  and  I 
stepped  out  of  the  open  window  on  to  the  bal- 
cony which  overhung  the  Cher.  Catherine  fol- 
lowed me.  "You  have  maligned  yourself," 
she  said,  "  for  if  your  chief  concern  is  to  satisfy 
your  conscience,  surely  that  is  the  best  re- 
ligion." 

"  It  is  not  that  of  the  Church,"  I  replied, 
"  for  the  Cardinal  has  just  assured  the  Duchess 
of  its  blessing,  and  yet  I  know  that  her  mind 
is  not  at  rest,  that  under  this  apparent  hap- 
piness in  the  midst  of  luxury,  of  gaiety,  of 
affection,  there  is  a  deep-seated  discontent,  a 
self-disgust,  which  poisons  all  her  joy,  and 
that  in  certain  moments,  when  she  thinks  of 
swift-coming  death,  and  of  rendering  up  her 


A  Lily  among  Thorns  191 

account  to  God,  a  fear  grips  her  heart  which 
tells  her  that  her  life  is  all  a  ghastly  mistake. 
The  Cardinal  is  her  old  friend  and  religious 
adviser.  He  has  been  more  lenient  to  her 
wrong-doing  than  her  own  conscience.  She 
will  ease  her  mind  by  confession,  and  he  will 
impose  some  easy  penance  which  will  restore 
her  to  confidence  and  happiness." 

"  But  why,"  asked  Catherine  of  Cleves, 
"  since  her  own  sense  of  right  and  wrong  is 
more  rigorous  than  that  of  the  Cardinal,  does 
she  stultify  it  by  confessing  to  him  ?" 

"Do  not,"  I  replied,  "let  anyone  else  hear 
you  ask  such  a  question.  It  might  be  sup- 
posed that  you  are  no  true  child  of  the  Church." 

She  bit  her  lip.  "  I  thank  you  for  your 
warning,  for  I  am  not  of  the  stuff  of  which 
martyrs  are  made,"  she  said,  thoughtfully. 
Then  after  a  moment's  pause  she  added, 
"  God  grant  I  be  not  put  to  the  test,  or  if  so, 
that  more  courage  be  given  me." 

"  Amen,  to  the  first  prayer,"  I  replied. 
"You  may  trust  me,  for  in  Italy  I  lost  what 
little  religion  I  had,  without  gaining  any  other. 
But  beware  of  giving  your  confidence  to  any- 
one. Above  all,  beware  of  the  Cardinal.  He 
is  tolerant  of  every  sin  except  that  of  heresy." 

The  curtains  were  apart  and  we  could  see 


192  Renaissance  Chateaux 

him  now  listening  to  the  Duchesse  de  Valen- 
tinois  in  his  courtly  manner,  with  his  head  on 
one  side  and  his  bold  admiring  eyes  paying 
her  more  attention  than  his  ears.  But  he 
divined  after  a  moment  that  her  mood  was 
desperately  serious.  He  saw  her  lip  tremble 
and  her  cheek  pale,  and  he  took  her  hand  and 
caressed  it  soothingly  as  though  it  were  that  of 
a  child.  Then  he  spoke  low  and  persuasively, 
in  a  way  that  some  called  eloquent,  and  which 
was  plausible  with  women,  and  while  the 
Duchess  listened  her  eyes  kindled.  She 
leaned  forward  eagerly  and  her  breath  came 
quickly.  She  began  to  pace  the  room  in  her 
excitement,  and  paused  in  front  of  our  window. 

"  Then  you  think  it  is  my  duty  not  to  leave 
the  King  nor  to  enter  a  convent — that  I  have  a 
higher  mission  ?  " 

"  And  one  which  no  one  else  can  perform," 
the  Cardinal  added. 

"  To  influence  the  King  in  the  right  direc- 
tion, as  Agnes  Sorel  did  Charles  VII.  ?  But 
the  country  is  not  in  danger." 

"  The  Church  is  in  danger,  and  soon  the 
country  will  be.  All  sins  which  can  be  sinned 
are  but  venial  compared  with  heresy.  That 
sin  must  be  stamped  out.  The  King  is  too 
humane,  too  weak  ;  it  is  you  who  must  hold 


A  Lily  among  Thorns  193 

him  to  his  duty,  and  so  win  your  own  salvation 
and  his." 

They  passed  on,  but  we  had  heard  enough. 
And  when  Henri  besought  the  Pope  to  estab- 
lish the  Inquisition  in  France,  when  the  fires 
for  whose  lighting  Francis  I.  had  repented  and 
which  had  smouldered  for  a  time,  flared  up 
again,  we  knew  that  it  was  Diane's  hand  that 
had  lighted  them,  and  that  in  doing  so  she 
believed  she  was  expiating  her  own  errors. 
Meantime  we  also  knew  that,  kind  as  she  had 
been  to  us  both,  if  any  suspicion  of  the  truth 
which  we  had  just  confided  to  each  other 
should  come  to  her  knowledge,  we  had  no 

o     ' 

more  dangerous  enemy  than  Diane  de  Poitiers. 
The  consciousness  of  a  common  secret,  a  com- 
mon danger,  was  such  a  bond  that  we  felt  as 
if  we  had  known  each  other  for  years  and 
could  rely  on  each  other  forever. 

We  fell  to  talking  quite  confidentially  of 
the  people  whom  we  knew,  and  especially  of 
the  Guises.  The  great  Duke  Francis  was  the 
head  of  the  house,  but  Charles  the  Cardinal, 
although  the  second  in  age,  was  recognised  by 
the  brothers  as  first  in  ability,  and  the  six 
Lorrainers  acted  as  one  man.  What  the  Car- 
dinal planned  they  carried  out.  Francis  had 
married  Anne  d'Este,  the  daughter  of  Duke 


194  Renaissance  Chateaux 

Hercules  d'Este  of  Ferrara  and  of  Renee  of 
France,  the  daughter  of  Louis  XII.  and  sister- 
in-law  of  Francis  I.  It  was  a  great  marriage, 
and  the  Guises  were  like  to  make  their  way 
through  their  women  to  still  greater  power. 
The  third  brother,  Claude,  Due  d' Aumale,  had 
married  Louise  de  Breze,  the  daughter  of 
Diane  de  Poitiers,  and  the  Cardinal  had  re- 
ceived his  hat  through  Diane's  gratitude. 
Greater  advantages  still  were  to  come  to  the 
family  through  the  marriage  of  their  sister 
with  James  V.  of  Scotland,  for  the  daughter 
of  this  marriage,  Marie  Stuart,  was  to  be  the 
Cardinal's  winning  card.  It  was  Diane  who 
persuaded  Henri  II.  to  the  betrothal  of  the 
Dauphin  to  this  little  princess,  and  a  French 
fleet  was  sent  to  brino-  her  to  France  to  be 

o 

brought  up  in  the  guardianship  of  Charles 
of  Lorraine.  Marie  loved  Chenonceau  more 
than  any  other  spot  in  France.  She  had 
her  falcons  here,  which  she  had  learned  to 
dress  and  train,  and  above  all  things  she 
loved  to  row  upon  the  Cher.  On  the  day 
of  which  I  have  spoken,  while  Diane  and  the 
Cardinal  were  talking  so  seriously  within, 
and  Catherine  and  I  were  comparing  our 
opinions  outside  the  window,  the  lovers  wan- 
dered through  the  garden  to  a  little  boat 


A  Lily  among  Thorns  195 

moored  at  the  foot  of  a  marble  staircase.  The 
young  Queen  of  Scots  took  her  seat  in  the 
stern,  and  Francis  was  about  to  join  her  when 
he  noticed  that  the  oars  rested  on  the  bank  at 
a  little  distance.  While  he  ran  to  get  them 
the  boat  swung  loose  and  floated  down  the 
stream.  The  girl's  cry  of  alarm  was  echoed 
by  the  prince,  who  ran  along  the  shore,  but 
the  current  swept  the  boat  into  the  middle  of 
the  stream  and  it  was  rapidly  approaching  the 
arch  over  which  I  was  poised.  It  was  Cather- 
ine who  saw  the  danger  first  and  caught  my 
arm.  Instantly  I  dropped  from  the  balcony, 
sank,  rose  at  a  little  distance  from  the  boat, 
swam  to  it,  and  was  able  to  convoy  it  to  the 
shore.  It  was  a  simple,  easy  thing  to  do,  but 
the  prince  would  have  it  that  I  had  saved  the 
life  of  his  betrothed,  and  as  he  returned  to 
Amboise  that  day  while  she  and  Catherine 
were  to  remain  longer,  he  begged  that  I  might 
be  permitted  to  row  them  on  all  their  excur- 
sions upon  the  river.  So  it  chanced  that  we 
three  became  firm  friends,  for  where  Marie 
Stuart  went  her  maid  of  honour  went  too. 
And  for  all  the  terror  which  later  came  into 
their  lives  I  remember  them  still  as  I  saw  them 
then,  two  of  the  merriest  maidens,  the  most 
bewitching  and  the  tenderest  hearted  in  all 


*96  Renaissance  Chateaux 

France.  Marie  Stuart  was  a  bit  of  a  tease, 
turning  everything  into  raillery  that  had  no 
sting,  but  rained  about  us  in  brilliant  sparkles  ; 
while  Catherine's  nature  was  too  sweet  and 
earnest  for  the  least  mockery. 

Rene  of  Guise,  youngest  of  the  brothers, 
had  established  himself  at  Usse,  not  far  from 
Chenonceau,  and  invited  us  all  to  a  fete  at 
that  enchanting  chateau.  It  was  a  strange 
moment  to  choose  for  revelry,  for  the  siege 
of  St.  Quentin  was  in  progress.  Coligny  was 
holding  the  city,  but  was  distressed  by  the 
Spaniards.  The  flower  of  the  French  nobility 
were  attempting  to  raise  the  siege,  and  a 
battle  was  daily  expected.  It  so  happened 
that  none  of  the  Guises  were  concerned  in 
this  affair,  Duke  Francis  being  in  command 
of  the  French  forces  sent  to  Italy  to  the 
succour  of  the  Pope.  The  excursion  to  Usse 
was  partly  by  water.  I  had  my  role  to  fill 
as  boatman,  and  was  also  permitted  to  take 
horse  when  we  landed  and  accompany  the 
party  to  the  chateau.  There  was  music 
and  dancing,  and  Marie  Stuart  was  the  star 
of  the  fete.  She  sang  Scottish  ballads, 
dressed  in  character  in  a  satin  snood  and 
silken  plaid,  and  the  curious  costume  of  those 
northern  savages  was  very  becoming  to  her 


A  Lily  among  Thorns  19? 

animated  little  figure.  Her  dancing,  too,  was 
greatly  admired,  and  it  was  agreed  that  only 
the  Duchesse  de  Guise  surpassed  her  in  the 
minuet,  while  she  had  no  rivals  in  the  gal- 
liarde. 

I  shall  long  remember  that  day,  because  of 
what  happened  on  our  return  when  we  all 
stopped  at  charming  Azay  le  Rideau.  This 
chateau  the  lovers  found  much  to  their  taste, 
and  Francis  declared  that  if  they  might  live 
and  love  here  for  ever  he  would  be  well  con- 
tent to  let  young  Henri  of  Guise  have  all  the 
troublesome  business  of  reigning.  "  You  shall 
have  none  of  it,"  the  Cardinal  promised ;  "  my 
brother,  the  Duke  of  Guise,  and  I  will  attend 
to  it  for  you." 

"  And  then,"  added  Francis,  "  if  I  should  be 
called  to  the  throne  by  my  father's  death, 
which  the  saints  forbid,  there  is  my  mother. 
You  have  no  idea  how  capable  she  is.  She 
might  be  kind  enough  to  reign  for  me.  You 
had  forgotten  her,  I  think." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Cardinal,  stroking  his  chin 
meditatively,  "we  had  forgotten  Catherine  de' 
Medici." 

"  They  have  possibly  forgotten  my  uncle, 
the  Prince  of  Conde,  also,"  said  Catherine 
under  her  breath  to  me.  And  then  all  of  a 


198  Renaissance  Chateaux 

sudden  there  arose  a  confusion  at  the  gate  as 
someone  demanded  in  the  King's  name  in- 
stant speech  with  the  Cardinal.  Charles  of 
Lorraine  met  the  newcomer  at  the  door  of 
the  chateau,  and  Catherine,  looking  from  the 
window,  caught  my  arm  and  turned  very  white. 
"  It  is  Antoine  de  Croy,"  she  gasped.  "  He 
comes  from  the  army,  and  brings  news  of  my 
father." 

The  Cardinal  entered  the  room  presently, 
leaning  on  the  young  man's  arm.  His  gross 
mouth  wore  a  smile  of  ill-concealed  satisfac- 
tion, though  his  voice  was  carefully  modulated 
to  express  sorrow. 

"  Heavy  news,  heavy  news,  my  kinsmen," 
he  said.  "  This  brave  officer  comes  from  the 
Due  de  Nevers,  and  brings  the  sad  tidings  that 
St.  Ouentin  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Spaniards. 
He  tells  me  that  more  than  three  thousand 
Frenchmen  have  been  killed,  double  that  num- 
ber taken  prisoner,  our  dear  friend  the  Con- 
stable wounded  and  taken  prisoner  with  the 
Dues  de  Longueville  and  Montpensier,  La 
Rochefoucauld,  and  D'Aubigne.  The  Due 
d'Enghien  and  the  Viscomte  de  Turenne  are 
slain,  and  poor  unfortunate  Coligny,  who  held 
out  uselessly  within  the  shattered  walls  for  a 
fortnight  after  the  battle  was  lost  outside, 


A  Lily  among  Thorns  199 

has  at  last  surrendered.  It  is  terrible,  heart- 
rending." 

The  Cardinal  rubbed  his  hands  unctuously 
as  he  spoke,  and  the  inflection  which  he  gave 
to  each  name  belied  his  pretended  grief. 

"The  King  doubtless  sees,"  he  continued, 
"the  futility  of  entrusting  matters  of  import- 
ance to  such  leadership.  Anne  de  Mont- 
morency  is  a  dotard,  who  has  outlived  his 
usefulness.  Conde  isahairbrained  fool.  The 
Admiral  is  always  unlucky  ;  witness  his  colo- 
nisation schemes  in  Florida.  Our  brother 
Francis  should  have  had  command.  I  am 
rejoiced  to  hear  that  he  has  been  summoned 
from  Italy.  Do  not  be  cast  down,  my  dear 
ones.  I  will  join  the  King  instantly  ;  he  shall 
appoint  the  Due  de  Guise  Lieutenant-general, 
possibly  Viceroy,  and  all  these  calamities  will 
be  avenged.  This  public  disaster,  brought 
about  as  it  has  been  by  the  blundering  of 
the  rivals  of  the  house  of  Guise,  will  doubt- 
less be  overruled  for  our  good — ct  confusio 
hostibus" 

Poor  Catherine  de  Cleves,  who  was  in  an 
agony  of  apprehension  and  had  nearly  fainted 
during  the  Cardinal's  long  speech,  turned  an 
imploring  face  toward  Antoine  de  Croy,  who 
nodded  to  her  encouragingly  and,  as  soon  as 


200  Renaissance  Chateaux 

he  could  disengage  himself  from  the  Cardinal's 
arm,  joined  us  at  the  window,  which  I  had 
opened  to  give  the  poor  girl  air. 

"And  my  father?"  she  gasped.  "Is  he 
among  the  dead  or  a  prisoner  ?  " 

"  Neither,  dear  lady,"  replied  de  Croy. 
"The  Due  de  Nevers  is  safe  with  the  rem- 
nant of  the  French  army  at  La  Fere.  He 
succoured  Coligny  with  the  greatest  heroism, 
throwing  a  hundred  and  twenty  arquebusiers 
into  St.  Quentin  at  a  loss  of  three  times  as 
many  to  reinforce  him  before  he  retreated. 
The  Prince  of  Conde  sent  the  Constable 
warning  that  he  was  being  surrounded,  and 
entreated  him  to  fall  back  upon  the  Due 
de  Nevers.  But  you  know  the  Constable's 
humour.  '  I  was  serving  in  the  field,'  he  re- 
plied, '  before  the  Prince  de  Conde  was  born, 
and  I  am  not  ready  to  take  lessons  from  him 
in  the  art  of  war.' 

"  The  old  warrior  fought  like  a  lion,  but 
had  his  thigh  shattered  and  was  taken  pris- 
oner, while  the  Prince  de  Conde  joined  your 
father  in  safety." 

"  Thank  God,"  Catherine  said,  faintly,  and 
then  asked  :  "  Did  my  father  know  that  you 
would  see  me  ?  and  did  he  send  me  no  per- 
sonal message  ?  " 


A  Lily  among  Thorns  201 

"  He  did,"  the  young  man  replied  in  a  low 
voice,  "  but  I  cannot  give  it  here.  Tell  me 
when  and  where  I  can  find  you." 

I  did  not  hear  her  reply.  Antoine  de  Croy 
took  his  leave,  and  we  returned  to  Chenon- 
ceau,  but  I  doubted  not  that  we  would  see 
more  of  him. 

The  Cardinal  was  elated,  and  gave  orders 
that  Marie  Stuart  and  her  suite  should  be 
ready  to  start  for  Paris  with  the  Duchesse  of 
Guise  on  the  following  day.  As  for  himself,  he 
must  travel  more  rapidly,  for  he  had  important 
ecclesiastical  matters  to  discuss  with  the  Bishop 
of  St.  Aignan  the  next  morning,  and  would  spur 
thence  with  all  haste  to  join  the  King. 

Under  cover  of  the  chatter  which  this  an- 
nouncement occasioned,  Catherine  crept  to  me 
and  whispered  :  "  Can  you  have  our  boat  at 
the  foot  of  the  pier  at  dawn,  Jean  Goujon  ? 
I  must  go  up  the  river  a  little  way,  but  we 
will  be  back  again  before  anyone  is  stirring." 

"Is  it  absolutely  necessary?"  I  asked. 
"  Think  well  what  you  do." 

"  It  is  necessary,"  she  answered,  and  I  re- 
plied that  I  was  at  her  service.  But  the  little 
lady  was  mistaken  in  her  reckoning  that  the 
household  would  sleep  late  that  morning.  De- 
spite the  fact  that  they  had  had  a  fatiguing 


202  Renaissance  Chateaux 

yesterday,  everyone  was  up  betimes.  While 
I  was  waiting  beside  the  boat  in  the  gray  of 
early  morning  twilight,  I  saw  candles  twink- 
ling in  all  the  dormers  of  the  chateau,  and 
presently  the  state  barge  of  the  Duchess  went 
dashing  up  the  Cher,  carrying  the  Cardinal  to 
his  appointment  with  the  Bishop  at  the  Cha- 
teau of  St.  Aignan.  Almost  at  the  same  time 
the  grooms  led  horses  to  the  door,  and  Diane, 
as  was  her  custom,  set  out  for  an  early  morn- 
ing hunt. 

"Whither  are  we  bound,  sweet  lady?"  I 
asked,  as  Catherine  joined  me,  "  and  is  it  no 
errand  that  I  can  do  for  you  ?  For  there  are 
keen-scented  hounds  aslip,"  and  I  told  her 
whom  I  had  seen. 

"  It  is  nothing  you  can  do  for  me,  Jean 
Goujon,"  she  replied.  "  It  is  the  Sabbath,  and 
I  go  to  partake  of  the  Holy  Communion  with 
a  little  company  of  the  proscribed  religion, 
in  a  subterranean  chapel  in  the  quarries  of 
Bourre.  I  was  notified  on  my  arrival  at  Che- 
nonceau  of  the  existence  of  this  church,  but 
I  had  not  the  courage  to  identify  myself  with 
it.  Now  that  God  has  so  marvellously  saved 
my  father's  life,  I  must  go  and  make  my  thank 
offering." 

I  bowed,  and  we  glided  up  the  river. 


A  Lily  among  Thorns  203 

The  quarries  of  Bourre  had  furnished  the 
excellent  white  stone,  easy  to  cut  as  cheese 
and  hardening  like  marble  by  exposure,  with 
which  the  chateaux  of  Chenonceau,  of  Cham- 
bord,  of  Blois,  and  of  much  of  the  city  of 
Tours  had  been  built.  The  excavations  ran 
from  the  river,  where  the  stone  was  shipped, 
in  long  galleries  and  curious  chambers  far 
into  the  cliffs.  Indeed,  all  the  country  round 
about  was,  so  to  speak,  catacombed  with  laby- 
rinths cut  in  the  rock,  some  of  which  were  in- 
habited, and  it  was  a  common  tiling  to  see 

o 

smoke  rising  from  the  ground,  and  hunters 
had  sometimes  fallen  down  the  chimneys  of 
these  underground  habitations.  I  dragged  the 
boat  behind  a  block  of  stone,  and  we  entered 
a  cavern,  following  others  who  were  evidently 
on  the  same  errand.  Light  and  air  had  been 
admitted  by  shafts  at  intervals,  and  as  Cather- 
ine possessed  the  clue  we  soon  found  ourselves 
in  the  little  chapel. 

Candles  glittered  on  the  rude  block  of  stone 
which  served  as  an  altar,  but  they  were  for 
illumination  only,  and  there  was  no  crucifix 
or  picture.  A  preacher  in  the  black  gown  of 
Geneva  was  reading  in  French  of  those  early 
martyrs,  "  Of  whom  the  world  was  not  worthy. 
They  wandered  in  deserts,  and  in  mountains, 


204  Renaissance  Chateaux 

and  in  dens  and  caves  of  the  earth.  Choosing 
rather  to  suffer  affliction  with  the  people  of 
God  than  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  sin  for  a 
season."  Then  followed  a  brief  exhortation  to 
constancy,  the  simple  celebration  of  the  Lord's 
supper,  a  hymn  of  Clement  Marot's,  and  then 
we  went  as  we  had  come.  We  were  the  last 
of  the  little  congregation,  and  we  moved  more 
slowly  than  the  others,  for  Antoine  de  Croy 
had  joined  us,  and  was  giving  Catherine  her 
father's  message. 

Suddenly,  as  we  neared  the  entrance  of  the 
cavern,  cries  and  shouts  were  heard,  and  those 
just  ahead  of  us  fell  back,  exclaiming,  "  We 
are  betrayed !  The  garrison  of  Montbazon 
have  trapped  us,  and  are  driving  our  brethren 
to  the  donjon  !  " 

We  fled  down  a  tunnel,  whither  we  knew 
not,  except  that  it  was  in  a  different  direction 
from  the  chapel.  Luckily  it  was  not  a  cid  de 
sac,  but  a  way  into  the  quarry  from  the  other 
side  of  the  cliff,  where  we  emerged  in  a  heathy 
pasture.  The  others  scattered,  leaving  us 
three  together. 

"And  now,  since  the  boat  is  out  of  the 
question,  how  to  get  you  to  Chenonceau?" 
I  asked,  greatly  puzzled.  "  I  must  needs  fetch 
a  cart  from  the  nearest  peasant's,"  but  even  as 


A  Lily  among  Thorns  205 

I  made  the  suggestion,  young  Henri  de  Guise, 
who  had  wandered  away  from  the  other 
hunters,  came  riding  across  the  moors.  He 
sprang  from  his  horse  as  he  recognised  us, 
and  dashing  up  to  Catherine,  demanded,  "  My 
cousin,  how  came  you  in  this  wild  place  ? " 

"  Answer  him  not,"  de  Croy  cried. 

"  I  must  answer,"  said  Catherine,  "  for  this 
concerns  my  faith  as  well  as  my  honour." 
And  so  she  told  him  where  she  had  been,  and 
much  as  he  cared  for  her,  Henri  of  Guise 
was  more  shocked  at  the  news  that  she  was 
a  Huguenot  than  if  he  had  detected  her  in 
some  deadly  sin.  So  he  cried  :  "  Up  behind 
me,  cousin  Catherine,  and  not  a  word  of 
this  to  anyone,  for  you  have  escaped  a  ter- 
rible danger.  Know  you  that  all  of  those 
miserable  wretches  with  whom  you  met  so 
recently  are  at  this  moment  being  examined 
for  the  crime  of  heresy  before  the  Council, 
over  which  my  uncle  the  Cardinal  is  presid- 
ing. It  was  for  that  he  stayed  his  journey 
to  make  sure  that  they  suffered  the  full  pun- 
ishment of  their  crimes.  God's  death  !  if  you 
had  been  brought  before  him  with  the  rest ! 
I  heard  him  tell  the  Duchesse  de  Valentinois 
that  he  should  spare  none,  man  nor  woman, 
gentle  nor  simple,  nay,  or  it  were  a  member 


206  Renaissance  Chateaux 

of  his  own  house,  for  this  cancer  had  reached 
such  a  pitch  of  corruption  that  it  must  be 
eaten  out  by  fire  !  " 

Catherine  shuddered  and  turned  faint. 
"And  are  we  all  sentenced  to  be  burned?" 
she  asked. 

"  The  men  to  the  stake,  the  women  to  be 
buried  alive,"  said  Henri,  "like  Marion  of 
Mons,  who  was  laid  in  her  grave  in  an  open 
coffin  barred  with  iron.  You  remember  when 
she  felt  the  first  spadeful  of  earth  strike  her 
face  she  cried  out  in  terror,  and  the  execu- 
tioner spread  her  kerchief  on  her  face,  then, 
shovelling  in  more  earth,  sprang  into  the 
grave  and  trampled  the  life  from  her  body." 

Catherine  put  up  her  hands  as  though  hid- 
ing her  eyes  from  the  sickening  spectacle. 

"  My  Lord  of  Guise,"  said  de  Croy,  "  if  the 
Lady  Catherine  runs  any  danger  in  returning 
to  Chenonceau  she  shall  not  go.  I  will  get 
horses  and  escort  her  across  the  country  from 
the  chateau  of  one  Huguenot  noble  to  another 
until  she  is  safe  at  home  in  Nevers." 

"That  is  impossible,"  said  Catherine,  while 
Henri  answered,  proudly  :  "  My  cousin  is  safe 
in  my  care — if  she  will  return  with  me,  and 
say  nothing  of  the  compromising  situation 
in  which  she  has  so  rashly  placed  herself." 


A  Lily  among  Thorns  207 

"  But  I  cannot  lie,"  Catherine  replied.  "  If 
I  am  questioned  I  shall  tell  the  truth." 

"Not  so!"  cried  de  Croy.  "None  have 
the  right  to  question  you  in  matters  of  faith, 
and  if  they  do  you  have  the  right  to  be 
silent.  You  must  tell  nothing  that  would 
help  the  persecutor  and  put  others  in  danger. 
Go  with  your  cousin,  and  if  he  can  intro- 
duce you  secretly  into  the  chateau  all  will 
be  well."  He  lifted  her  behind  Henri,  whisper- 
ing, "  I  will  remain  in  the  neighbourhood  and 
will  rescue  you  if  you  are  in  danger.  You  can 
communicate  with  me  through  Jean  Goujon." 

I  bade  Antoine  de  Croy  farewell  and 
walked  back  to  Chenonceau.  I  was  not 
surprised,  but  much  troubled  as  to  what  I 
should  say,  when  the  warder  told  me  that 
he  had  orders  to  bring  me  to  the  Duchesse  de 
Valentinois,  for  in  our  excitement  Henri  de 
Guise  and  I  had  agreed  on  no  plan  of  action. 
As  we  walked  up  the  long  avenue  together 
I  saw  Marie  Stuart  standing  at  the  boat- 
landing,  looking  anxiously  up  the  river.  I 
gave  the  blackbird's  whistle,  which  was  my 
gondolier  cry,  and  she  came  running  to  me. 
I  had  accompanied  the  warder  without  re- 
sistance, and  he  fell  back  at  the  Princess's 
command  and  allowed  us  to  walk  together. 

o 


208  Renaissance  Chateaux 

"  What  mad-cap  prank  is  this  of  Cather- 
ine's ? "  she  asked,  "  that  she  should  attempt 
to  elope  with  some  one  ?  and  who  is  the 
gallant?" 

"  Who  hath  told  such  a  scandal  ?  "  I  asked, 
striving  to  get  my  wits  together. 

"  Why,  the  Duchess.  She  caught  them  in 
the  act  while  she  was  hunting.  The  craven 

tj 

lover  ran  away,  but  the  Duchess  mounted 
Catherine  behind  Henri  of  Guise,  and  she 
is  now  a  prisoner  in  her  room.  Strange  to 
say,  Henri  is  shut  up  too,  and  I  can  by 
no  means  get  at  him  to  know  the  truth. 
I  crept  along  the  balcony  to  Catherine's 
window,  but  found  it  barred.  I  heard  her 
weeping  bitterly,  but  before  I  could  have 
speech  with  her  the  Duchess  came  creeping 
along  and  caught  me  by  the  arm.  Can  you 
do  nothing  for  her?" 

"  Nothing,  dear  Princess,  since  I,  too,  am 
a  prisoner ;  but  if  you  can  send  word  to 
Antoine  de  Croy,  at  Pierre  la  Noue's,  that  she 
is  in  danger  and  bid  him  wait  in  a  boat  be- 
neath the  arch  nearest  the  chapel,  you  may  be 
of  service." 

Her  eyes  grew  wide  and  round,  but  she 
nodded  gravely  as  she  ran  away. 

"How  is  this,  Jean    Goujon?"   Diane  said 


A  Lily  among  Thorns  209 

to  me,  as  I  entered  her  boudoir.  "  I  count 
on  hearing  the  whole  truth  from  you,  or 
rather  on  having  it  confirmed,  if  I  assure  you 
of  safety,  for  I  already  know  all.  I  saw  you 
beside  the  boat  this  morning.  It  has  since 
been  found  at  the  mouth  of  the  cavern  where 
the  heretics  were  taken.  I  came  upon  these 
children  as  I  was  returning  from  my  hunt. 
Fortunately  I  was  in  advance  of  the  others, 
and  I  pretended  to  them  that  it  was  a  ro- 
mantic escapade  of  that  mad  girl's,  for  I  could 
get  nothing  from  them  until  I  shut  them  up 
separately.  If  Henri  were  older  he  would 
shield  her  by  swearing  that  he  had  a  rendez- 
vous with  her  there  in  that  lonely  spot ;  but 
he  is  a  mere  child,  and  such  an  excuse  were 
ridiculous.  If  there  were  some  more  manly 
lover  on  whom  this  folly  could  be  fastened, 
then  I  might  establish  my  story  of  an  at- 
tempted elopement." 

For  an  instant  an  insane  idea  shot  into 
my  brain.  I  had  hardly  realised  before  that 
such  sweet  madness  had  taken  possession  of 
me.  I  know  not  when  I  first  began  to  love 
Catherine  of  Cleves,  but  when  I  saw  her 
in  danger  my  love  burst  all  bounds  of  race 
and  caste,  and  I  cried :  "  There  is  such  an 
one,  dear  lady.  I  swear  by  all  things  sacred, 


210  Renaissance  Chateaux 

there  was  one  with  her  who  loves  her  with 
his  whole  soul,  and  would  count  it  heaven  to 
be  her  husband." 

"So  Henri  told  me.  I  am  glad  that  you 
confirm  his  testimony.  I  thought  it  but  an 
attempt  to  follow  my  leading.  I  know,  too, 
that  a  marriage  with  Antoine  de  Croy  would 
be  acceptable  to  the  Duke  of  Nevers.  It  is 
her  only  possible  chance  of  escape,  but  un- 
fortunately she  has  made  it  impossible." 

"  Has  she  declared  that  she  does  not  love 
him  ?  "  I  asked,  and  all  my  hope  went  out  with 
her  answer. 

"  Not  at  all.  She  had  no  fault  to  find 
with  de  Croy,  but  when  I  interrogated  her 
privately  she  acknowledged  most  impudently 
that  she  had  attended  that  meeting  of  here- 
tics, and  that  she  is  a  Huguenot.  I  am  fond 
of  the  girl.  I  told  her  that  if  she  would  re- 
nounce her  errors  I  would  convince  the  Cardi- 
nal that  she  had  gone  out  to  meet  Antoine 
de  Croy,  but  she  refused  to  make  me  that 
promise  ;  I  can  do  nothing  for  her.  She  has 
condemned  herself." 

"  But  the  Cardinal  does  not  know  this. 
If  she  is  not  denounced  to  him  before  he 
leaves  to-day,  she  is  in  no  danger." 

"  He  must  know  it.      I  shall  denounce  her 


A  Lily  among  Thorns  2 1 1 

with  the  greatest  reluctance,  but  I  must  do 

it." 

"  You  will  not,  dear  lady,"  I  cried.  "Think, 
it  concerns  her  life  ! " 

"It  concerns  my  own  soul,  also.  I  have 
enough  sins  on  my  conscience  now,  without 
that  of  protecting  heresy." 

Then  I  saw  how  hopeless  the  poor  girl's 
case  was  ;  but  I  said  :  "  You  could  not  betray 
her  to  her  death — nay,  not  to  save  your  own 
soul ! "  As  I  said  the  words  the  tapestry 
was  thrown  back  by  a  lackey  with  the  an- 
nouncement, "  His  Eminence  the  Cardinal," 
and  Charles  of  Loraine  entered. 

He  was  in  surly  humour,  for  he  had  not 
had  his  breakfast,  and  the  heretics  had  not 
been  caught,  after  all.  The  soldiers  had 
returned  to  the  Castle  of  Montbazon  reporting 
that  the  townspeople  had  set  upon  them 
with  stones  and  had  rescued  their  prisoners. 
So  there  had  been  no  trial  and  would  be  no 
executions,  and  the  Cardinal  had  been  led  on 
a  wild-goose  chase. 

"What  is  this  I  hear,  Duchess?"  he  asked, 
testily.  "  Catherine  de  Cleves  has  comprom- 
ised herself  with  some  young  rake  ?  Send  the 
hussy  back  to  Nevers  in  disgrace — but  first  let 
us  to  table,  and  afterwards  I  will  question  her." 


212  Renaissance  Chateaux 

"  By  all  means,  your  Eminence,  to  break- 
fast, for  this  matter  is  really  of  importance." 
And  Diane  led  him  away  chatting  merrily, 
and  at  that  moment  I  hated  her  with  all 
my  heart.  While  I  waited  a  guard  brought 
in  Henri  of  Guise.  The  boy  had  been  weep- 
ing. "Oh!  that  I  were  a  man!"  he  cried. 
"  But  even  then  she  would  have  none  of  me. 
Her  heart  is  given  to  that  milk-sop,  Antoine 
de  Croy.  By  the  Lord,  I  will  show  that  I 
am  the  better  man.  She  shall  have  her  choice 
and  regret  it." 

"  Her  choice  is  like  to  be  death,"  I  said. 

"  Nay,  we  will  save  her  yet,"  and  then 
the  door  opened  and  the  young  Queen  of 
Scots  entered  in  spite  of  the  respectful  re- 
monstrance of  the  guard.  She  pointed  sig- 
nificantly to  the  river,  and  I  knew  that  she 
meant  that  Antoine  de  Croy  was  there. 

The  guard  stood  listening,  but  Henri  paid 
no  attention  to  his  presence.  "  Tell  Cath- 
erine," he  said,  in  his  precocious  way,  "when 
the  Cardinal  interrogates  her  to  answer  his 
questions,  but  to  volunteer  nothing  further. 
The  Duchesse  of  Valentinois  is  with  him  and 
will  have  told  him  all  that  she  has  confessed. 
It  is  useless  for  her  to  repeat  that  confession." 

Shortly  we   heard    the   Cardinal's    voice   in 


A  Lily  among  Thorns  213 

the  boudoir.  "  Bring  in  my  nephew,  Henri. 
Ha !  you  young  dog,  off  for  a  vacation  from 
school  and  galloping  about  the  country  with 
the  girls,  helping  them  at  their  tricks  !  You 
shall  go  back  with  me  to  the  College  of 
Navarre  and  take  a  turn  at  your  books." 

His  tone  was  jovial ;  breakfast  had  molli- 
fied his  temper. 

"  I  am  well  content  to  go  back,"  Henri 
replied,  in  a  sulky  tone,  "since  Catherine 
will  not  have  me." 

"  Will  not  have  you — baby.  I  have  a  bet- 
ter match  in  store  for  you  than  that  pretty 
face.  But  tell  me  what  you  know  of  this 
escapade." 

"  I  found  her  on  the  heath  back  of  Bourre 
talking  with  Antoine  de  Croy.  You  may 
ask  Jean  Goujon  if  it  is  not  so.  He  was 
with  them,  and  I  brought  her  back  to  the 
chateau." 

"  Oh  !  the  sly  puss ! "  exclaimed  the  Car- 
dinal. "  Duchess,  send  for  her.  She  must 
be  disciplined,  she  must  be  disciplined,  or 
married,  which  is  much  the  same.  But  does 
Jean  Goujon  confirm  the  boy's  charges?" 

"  He  does,  your  Eminence — but  you  shall 
question  him,  if  you  wish,  for  he  is  in  the 


waiting-room. 


Renaissance  Chateaux 


"  We  will  hear  the  culprit  first,"  said  the 
Cardinal,  and  Catherine  being  sent  for  went 
in  and  desperately  faced  her  judge. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  "  you  have 
been  discovered  in  a  fault  —  in  an  indiscretion 
which,  but  for  your  cousin  Henri's  prompt 
action,  might  have  had  for  you  very  serious 
consequences." 

"  I  disclaim  my  cousin's  kind  offices,"  she 
replied  firmly. 

"Yes,  yes;  I  understand  it  was  not  agree- 
able to  be  snatched  away  from  your  lover 
by  this  impetuous  boy  ;  but  tell  me,  my  dear, 
why  did  you  go  to  this  clandestine  and  alto- 
gether improper  meeting  ?  " 

You  may  be  sure  that  my  heart  stuck  in 
my  throat  at  this  question,  and  still  more  at 
her  answer  : 

"  I  have  already  told  the  Duchess  that  I 
could  not  do  otherwise,  no,  not  if  I  die  for  it.' 

"  Ah  !  you  are  infatuated  to  that  extent  ? 
Well,  there  is,  after  all,  no  great  harm  in 
what  you  have  done.  I  shall  simply  notify 
your  father,  and  if  the  young  man  is  ap- 
proved by  him,  and  his  intentions  are  honour- 
able, all  may  yet  be  well." 

Catherine  could  scarcely  believe  her  ears. 
"  Do  you  know  all  my  fault,  sir?"  she  asked. 


A  Lily  among  Thorns  215 

"  Has  the  Duchess  told  you  what  I  confessed 
to  her?" 

"  Not  in  detail,  not  in  detail ;  but,  my  dear, 
I  have  heard  enough,  and  I  forbid  you  to  in- 
criminate yourself." 

The  Duchess  pushed  her  gently  from  the 
room,  and  she  fell  fainting  into  my  arms.  I 
laid  her  on  a  couch  and  Henri  of  Guise 
brought  water.  I  left  her  to  his  care,  for  I 
must  needs  know  the  end  of  the  affair. 

"  My  dear  Duchess,"  the  Cardinal  was  say- 
ing, "  it  may  be  as  well  for  me  to  enquire 
as  a  mere  matter  of  form — though  on  your 
conscience,  Duchess,  on  your  conscience,  did 
the  confession  which  Catherine  made  you 
entirely  correspond  with  what  Henri  has  told 
us?" 

I  could  not  endure  the  suspense  of  that 
instant,  and  I  lifted  the  portiere  and  looked 
at  the  Duchess. 

She  had  taken  her  resolution,  and  she  shot 
me  a  smile  as  she  replied  :  "  Perfectly,  your 
Eminence,  and  since  I  am  persuaded  that 
Jean  Goujon  is  aware  of  the  whereabouts 
of  my  Lord  of  Croy,  I  request  him  to  convey 
to  that  young  man  our  invitation  to  join  us." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  SWAN   MAIDENS  OF  NEVERS 
I 

"THE  CONSTABLE'S  PATERNOSTERS" 

FROM  the  arrival  of  Duke  Francis  of  Guise 
from   Italy,  the   fortunes   of  the   Guises 
galloped  apace  toward  that  point  of  eminence 
which  had  been  the  Cardinal's  aim. 

The  Constable  de  Montmorency  and  his 
nephews,  the  Prince  de  Conde  and  the  Co- 
lignys,  through  no  fault  of  theirs,  had  lost  the 
battle  of  St.  Quentin,  and  France  was  in  peril 
and  panic. 

It  was  the  opportunity  of  his  life,  for  the 
Duke  of  Guise,  who  was  already  the  hero  of 
Metz,  suddenly  appeared  before  Calais,  and 
took  the  city  after  a  siege  of  a  week.  He 
followed  this  with  other  victories,  and  the 
marriage  of  his  niece,  Marie  Stuart,  with  the 
Dauphin  on  the  I9th  of  April,  1559,  was  for 
the  Guises  a  celebration  of  all  their  triumphs. 

216 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     217 

Duke  Anne  de  Montmorency,  the  Consta- 
ble, and  Admiral  Coligny  were  not  present,  for 
they  had  been  taken  prisoners  at  St  Quentin. 
The  King  moved  heaven  and  earth  for  their 
release;  and  the  Duke  of  Guise,  who  could 
well  have  borne  their  continued  absence,  re- 
monstrated with  him.  "  A  stroke  of  your 
Majesty's  pen,"  he  said,  "  costs  France  more 
than  thirty  years  of  war." 

But  Henri  was  minded  while  he  lived  to 
rule  his  own  country,  and  to  show  the  Guises 
that  he  knew  who  were  his  friends.  Pity  it 
was  that  his  life  was  so  short !  On  the  2gth 
of  June,  1559,  took  place  that  cursed  tourna- 
ment in  which  the  King,  jousting  so  merrily, 
was  struck  in  the  eye  by  Montgomery's  splin- 
tered lance,  and  died  so  lamentably  while  but 
in  early  middle  life.  This  was  the  culminat- 
ing point  in  the  glory  of  the  Guises,  for  now 
Fran9ois  II.,  a  youth  of  sixteen,  was  King,  and 
when  the  deputies  from  Parliament  waited 
upon  him  he  said  to  them  :  "  I  have  chosen 
the  Duke  of  Guise  and  the  Cardinal  of  Lor- 
raine, my  uncles,  to  have  direction  of  the 
State  ;  the  former  will  take  charge  of  the  de- 

o 

partment  of  war,  the  latter  the  administration 
of  finance  and  justice." 

This  was  to  leave  the  entire  government  of 


218  Renaissance  Chateaux 

France  in  their  hands,  and  there  were  certain 
persons  in  the  country  to  whom  this  arrange- 
ment was  not  pleasing. 

Immediately  on  the  return  of  the  Constable 
from  his  captivity,  I  was  summoned  by  him  to 
his  chateaux  of  Ecouen  and  Chantilly,  near 
Paris.  Hitherto  it  had  seemed  to  me  that  all 
France  belonged  to  the  Guises,  but  I  was  now 
to  see  the  other  side  of  the  picture. 

After  the  children  of  Henri  II.,  the  family 
that  stood  nearest  to  the  throne  was  that  of 
the  Bourbons.  They  were  "  Princes  of  the 
Blood,"  descended  from  Saint  Louis,  and  they 
were  indignant  at  the  airs  given  themselves  by 
the  Cardinal  of  Lorraine  and  his  brother. 
Anthony  of  Bourbon,  King  of  Navarre,  was 
the  head  of  his  house  by  right  of  seniority,  but 
he  was  irresolute  and  of  little  account  in  the 
game  (save  as  being  the  father  of  a  young 
man  named  Henri,  who  was  later  to  play  as 
great  a  part  as  any  man  then  living)  ;  but  the 
younger  brother  of  the  King  of  Navarre, 
Louis,  Prince  de  Conde,  was  brave  to  rash- 
ness, and  he  was  looked  upon  as  the  leader  of 
the  Reformed  party,  so  that  his  quarrel  with 
the  Guises  was  both  political  and  religious. 

The  Prince  de  Conde  and  the  Due  Francois 
de  Rochefoucauld  (also  a  Protestant)  had  mar- 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     219 

ried  sisters — the  granddaughters  of  Louise  de 
Montmorency,  who  was  the  favourite  sister  of 
the  Constable.  The  Duke  of  Montmorency 
was  very  fond  of  his  nieces,  and  considered 
their  husbands  as  truly  of  his  family  as  his  own 
nephews,  the  Colignys,  who  were  sons  of  the 
same  Louise  de  Montmorency,  but  by  another 
marriage.  There  were  three  of  these  Co- 
lignys, Odet,  Gaspard,  and  Andelot. 

Odet  was  a  cardinal,  but  he  had  become  con- 
verted to  the  new  religion,  as  had  his  brothers. 
Gaspard,  the  Admiral,  came  over  last  of  all,  for 
it  was  not  until  during  his  imprisonment,  after 
St.  Quentin,  that  he  had  time  to  give  the 
matter  serious  consideration.  The  Admiral  was 
Montmorency's  favourite  of  all  his  nephews, 
as  he  well  deserved  to  be,  both  on  account  of 
his  talents  and  his  character.  The  Constable's 
two  sons,  Francois  and  Damville,  were  also 
of  "  the  religion,"  and  it  will  be  seen  from  this 
roll-call  that  the  Montmorency  clan  included 
all  the  leaders  of  the  Huguenot  party.  This 
the  Constable,  honest  man,  was  far  from  sus- 
pecting. Himself  an  earnest  Catholic,  he  re- 
garded heresy  as  a  pestilence,  and  had  no  idea 
how  it  had  spread  in  his  own  family. 

Arriving  at  Ecouen,  I  found  the  castle  full  of 
company,  who  came  to  congratulate  the  Duke 


220  Renaissance  Chateaux 

on  his  return  from  exile,  and  incidentally  to 
consult  concerning  various  matters.  Anne 
de  Montmorency  presented  me  most  kindly  to 
Jean  Bullant,  who  had  built  the  chateau  during 
a  former  retirement  of  the  Constable  from 
Court,  and  who  gathered  artists  about  him  at 
this  time  to  complete  and  embellish  what  he  had 
so  well  begun.  My  own  part  was  to  place 
two  noble  statues  of  Michael  Anglo's  and  to 

o 

bring  them  into  harmony  with  the  fa£ade.  I 
had  seen  these  figures  in  Rome,  for  they  had 
been  designed  for  the  mausoleum  of  Pope 
Julius  II.,  having  been  ordered  by  that  Pontiff 
during  his  lifetime,  but,  none  caring  to  per- 
petuate his  fame  after  his  death,  the  project  for 
the  tomb  was  dropped,  and  the  statues  were 
purchased  for  Montmorency. 

I  think  I  have  never  seen  the  supreme  mo- 
ment more  nobly  treated  than  in  one  of  these 
figures.  The  perfect  form  of  the  beautiful 
youth  is  sinking  in  gentle  languor,  resignedly, 
without  a  struggle,  almost  longingly,  into  its 
last  sleep  ;  but  the  head  is  thrown  back  and  the 
face  has  the  expression  of  exaltation  which 
sometimes  settles  upon  the  features  as  the 
soul  obtains  its  first  glimpses  of  the  infinite. 
Noble  as  was  the  chateau  I  could  not  but  feel 
that  the  majestic  figures  of  Michael  Angelo  were 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     221 

out  of  place  as  I  marked  the  chattering  throng 
passing  in  and  out  without  giving  them  the  least 
attention.  As  for  myself,  I  was  deeply  moved 
as  I  studied  them  again  from  the  shelter  of  a 
little  room  that  was  assigned  me  on  the  oppos- 
ite side  of  the  court.  There  were  certain 
hours  in  the  very  early  morning,  when  I  stepped 
to  my  window  on  my  first  awakening,  when 
the  sunrise  touched  the  upturned  faces  of  the 
dying  youths,  and  at  night,  when  all  was  quiet 
and  their  cold  whiteness  was  relieved  by  the 
moonlight  against  the  dark  shadows,  that  they 
seemed  at  home  even  here. 

There  was  one  man  in  the  chateau  besides 
myself  who  fully  appreciated  them,  and  I 
count  it  one  of  the  privileges  of  my  life  that 
at  this  time  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Ber- 
nard Palissy.  This  great  artist,  for  such  I 
reckon  him  though  he  wrought  in  a  different 
medium  from  my  own,  was  engaged  upon  a 
grotto  which  he  was  adorning  with  his  rustic 
figurines.  They  were  most  curious  and  inter- 
esting, being  models  in  porcelain  of  little 
animals  and  fishes,  studied  most  carefully  from 
the  life.  The  entire  grotto  was  made  up  of 
tiles  and  plaques  of  porcelain,  representing  rock- 
work.  In  the  grotto  were  basins,  from  one 
to  another  of  which  the  water  splashed,  and 


222  Renaissance  Chateaux 

trickled  over  all  manner  of  counterfeit  water- 
creatures  :  eels  and  serpents,  crayfish,  frogs, 
shrimp,  snails,  mussels,  and  fish  of  every  kind, 
while  from  holes  in  the  rockwork  they  peeped 
and  basked  with  such  a  living  semblance  of 
form  and  colour  that  the  ladies  shuddered 
and  shrieked  on  their  first  visit  to  the  grotto. 
Palissy  and  I  had  much  in  common,  for  not 
only  were  we  drawn  to  one  another  by  our 
love  of  art,  but  we  soon  discovered  that  we 
were  both  of  the  new  religion.  It  was  Palissy 
who  first  gave  me  an  inkling  that  something 
more  than  appeared  was  being  discussed  by 
the  sons  and  nephews  of  the  Constable. 

The  Duke  of  Montmorency  had  but  a  wo- 
manish name,  he  having  been  called  Anne  after 
the  Queen  of  Louis  XII.,  but  he  had  a  most 
virile  nature  —  masterful,  quick  to  be  angry, 
and  rude  and  harsh  when  enraged,  but  kindly 
when  one  took  him  on  the  right  side.  He 
was  in  bad  humour  now,  for  he  liked  not  the 
snubbing  he  had  received  from  those  of  Guise, 
and  he  showed  his  frame  of  mind  in  exceed- 
ing shortness  of  temper  on  every  occasion. 
It  chanced  one  day  that  Damville  de  Mont- 
morency and  the  Prince  de  Concle  withdrew 
for  some  private  conversation  into  the  grotto 
near  to  the  temporary  atelier  where  both 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     223 

Palissy  and  I  were  at  work,  and  we  heard 
Damville  say  to  the  Prince  :  "  Say  nothing  of 
this  matter  to  my  father,  for  your  life.  Sore 
as  he  is  with  the  affronts  which  he  has  re- 
ceived, he  holds  to  his  religion  and  his  honour 
the  more  jealously,  and  he  would  run  you 
through  if  you  made  him  any  proposition  which 
would  prejudice  either.  Did  you  mark  how  he 
threw  his  plate  at  Odet's  head  when  he  began 
to  say  that  in  some  things  those  of  '  the  relig- 
ion '  had  the  right  on  their  side  ?  He  told  him, 
too,  that  he  did  not  read  the  maledictions  with 
sufficient  unction  and  that  he  would  himself 
conduct  family  prayers  this  morning.  You  can 
gauge  his  temper  for  the  day  by  the  spirit  with 
which  he  reads  the  service." 

Palissy  gave  me  a  dig  in  the  ribs  with  a 
sharp-snouted  china  fish  :  "  Did  you  mark 
that  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"Your  handiwork  has  marked  me,"  I  re- 
plied with  a  wry  face,  and  I  asked  him  what 
he  thought  was  on  foot.  "  Counterplots,"  he 
replied.  "  It  is  but  natural  that  mines  should 
call  for  countermines,  and  the  plots  of  the 
Guises  for  counterplots.  Be  wary  where  you 
tread,  for  the  earth  beneath  our  feet  is  honey- 
combed." Michel  Michaud,  the  Duke's  cook, 
had  joined  us  as  he  uttered  the  last  phrase,  and 


224  Renaissance  Chateaux 

being  a  heavy  man  he  retreated  with  all  haste, 
for  he  took  the  warning  in  its  literal  sense. 
But  I  understood  Palissy  better,  and  throwing 
off  my  working-blouse  I  said  :  "  I  think  I  will 
go  into  the  great  hall  and  hear  the  Constable 
read  the  morning  prayers,  and  then  to  breakfast, 
for  '  prayer  and  provender  hinder  no  man's 
journey.' ' 

The  proverb  lied,  for  Damville  de  Montmo- 
rency  and  the  Prince  de  Conde  evidently 
thought  the  Constable's  devotions  most  inau- 
spicious for  whatever  enterprise  they  had  on 
foot.  He  thought  best  to  read  the  Seven  Peni- 
tential Psalms,  interlarding  their  weary  length 
with  orders  to  the  servants,  who  were  waiting 
to  bring  in  the  breakfast,  and  with  exposition 
and  remarks  to  his  assembled  relatives.  He 
began  in  a  devout  and  unimpassioned  manner, 
but  the  recital  of  the  Psalmist's  tribulations 
suggested  his  own  wrongs,  and  he  roared  in  an 
exceedingly  terrible  voice  :  "  Depart  from  me, 
all  ye  workers  of  iniquity,"  fixing  his  eye  as  he 
spoke  on  the  Prince  of  Conde,  who  quailed  be- 
fore it.  "  Do  not  become  as  the  horse  and  mule, 
that  have  no  understanding"  he  continued,  em- 
phasising his  admonition  by  pointing  his  ringer 
at  his  son  Damville.  "  My  friends  and  my 
neighbours  have  stood  against  me"  he  exclaimed, 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     225 

shaking  his  fist  at  Odet  de  Coligny.  "  They 
spoke  vain  things  and  studied  deceits  all  day 
long"  He  looked  at  Andelot  as  he  made  this 
utterance,  and  the  honest  man  blushed  as  his 
uncle  went  on  :  "But  I  as  a  deaf  man  heard 
not,  and  was  as  a  dumb  man,  not  opening  my 
mouth" 

The  Prince  de  Conde*  whispered  to  Dam- 
ville,  "He  knows  all."  But  Damville  shook  his 
head  as  the  Constable  remarked  in  a  loud  aside  : 
"  Be  assured  that  I  have  two  ears  and  a  tongue 
in  my  head  to  use  when  I  have  occasion." 

"  It  was  but  a  chance  shot,"  said  Damville 
behind  his  hand,  and  the  psalms  rolled  on  un- 
eventfully till  the  Constable  reached  the  words  : 
"/  did  eat  ashes  as  bread,  and  mingled  my 
drink  with  weeping." 

"  Listen  to  that,  Michel  Michaud,"  he  cried. 
"  Serve  me  no  such  Lenten  fare  as  that,  but  a 
bouillabaisse  with  more  kinds  of  fish  victual 
than  our  friend  Palissy  puts  in  his  grotto. 
What !  no  bouillabaisse  ?  Then,  in  the  name 
of  all  the  saints,  whatsoever  you  have,  for  I  am 
like  to  die  with  hunger."  With  that  he  began 

o  o 

a  tirade  against  the  Cardinal  of  Lorraine,  who 
had  caused  him  to  be  deposed.  The  Prince 
de  Conde  thought  he  saw  his  opportunity  and 
added  fuel  to  the  flame. 


226  Renaissance  Chateaux 

"  You  should  have  been  retained  as  head  of 
the  army  instead  of  having  been  set  aside  for 
Duke  Francis  of  Guise,"  he  said,  "and  as 
Prince  of  the  Blood  I  should  have  had  the 
care  of  the  young  King's  person  and  the  ad- 
ministration of  the  affairs  of  state." 

The  Constable  perceived  his  drift  and  cooled 
in  an  instant.  "  It  is  easy,"  he  said,  "to  point 
out  whom  the  King  should  have  honoured,  but, 
since  he  has  chosen  other  ministers,  only  trai- 
tors gainsay  the  will  of  their  sovereign  ;  and, 
moreover,  since  neither  I  nor  any  of  my  blood 
will  ever  play  that  part,  you  do  but  waste  your 
breath,  my  nephew  of  Conde,  and  would  better 
save  it  to  cool  your  soup."  With  that  he  began 
to  blow  his  own  so  furiously  that  it  flew  from  his 
bowl.  The  little  son  of  the  Prince  de  Conde 
and  some  of  the  other  children  beginning  to 
laugh,  the  Constable  was  still  further  enraged. 

"  Calves,  goslings,  piglings,  do  you  laugh  at 
me?"  he  snorted.  And  little  Henri  de  Conde 
retorted  right  impudently  :  "  If  we  are  pigs, 
then  you  must  be  a  great  swine,  Uncle  Anne." 
His  mother  clapped  her  hand  to  his  mouth, 
but  the  Constable  roared  :  "  Let  be  !  the  lad  at 
least  acknowledges  me  for  the  head  of  his 
house.  He  hath  more  wit  than  his  elders." 

The   Prince  de  Conde  swallowed  his  soup 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     227 

scalding  hot  along  with  the  rebuff.  The  next 
day  he  and  his  family  left  Ecouen,  and  I  judged 
that  whatever  the  enterprise  might  have  been 
of  which  he  spoke  to  Damville  it  had  failed  be- 
fore it  had  well  begun. 

I  went  on  with  my  carving,  little  curious  as 
to  what  plots  might  be  hatching  about  me,  well 
content  so  long  as  I  had  a  chisel,  a  mallet, 
and  a  block  of  stone.  At  least  I  told  myself 
that  I  was  content,  though  at  times  the  memory 
of  sweet  Catherine  of  Cleves  forced  itself  upon 
me,  and  I  wondered  if  I  would  ever  look  upon 
her  fair  face  again.  The  time  was  nearer 
than  I  thought,  but  ere  it  brought  that  long- 
despaired-of  privilege  I  was  to  learn  to  love 
the  testy  old  Constable. 

Having  finished  my  work  at  Ecouen,  the 
Duke  took  me  to  Chantilly  and  employed  me 
in  the  chapel.  I  remember  that  he  told  me 
that  this  was  the  spot  where  he  wished  to  be 
buried;  with  all  his  sons  and  nephews  after  him. 
His  son  Francois  stood  by  when  he  said  it, 
and  he  charged  him  that  if  he  succeeded  him 

o 

as  lord  of  that  chateau  he  would  grant  his 
cousins  that  last  hospitality. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  May  of  1560  that 
Francois  de  Montmorency  took  me  into  his  con- 
fidence. There  had  been  a  secret  meeting  at 


228  Renaissance  Chateaux 

Vendome  of  the  princes  who  were  hostile  to 
the  Guises.  The  Prince  of  Conde  was  for 
taking  up  arms  and  snatching  the  King  from 
the  guardianship  of  that  family.  The  Colignys 
opposed  the  plan,  and  it  was  apparently  given 
up  ;  but  after  the  more  moderate  had  gone 
home  it  was  agreed  among  the  others  that  an 
attempt  of  this  kind  should  be  made,  but  that 
it  was  best  that  the  Prince  of  Conde,  who 
would  instantly  be  suspected,  should  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  So  the  matter  had 
rested  after  the  meeting  of  Vendome,  but  the 
conspiracy  had  spread  like  wildfire,  and  a  per- 
son eminently  fitted  to  carry  it  on  had  placed 
himself  at  its  head. 

La  Renaudie,  a  nobleman  of  Perigord,  "  a 
man  of  insinuating  wits,  of  indomitable  cour- 
age and  perseverance,"  had  scoured  the  king- 
dom, visiting  the  Protestant  nobles.  They 
had  pledged  themselves  to  act  under  him  as 
the  representative  of  le  capitaine  muet,  whose 
name  must  not  be  brought  into  the  conspiracy, 
but  whom  everyone  believed  to  be  the  Prince 
de  Conde. 

"  And  now,"  said  Fran9ois,  "  Louis  must  be 
informed  of  the  situation.  We  need  a  messen- 
ger who  will  take  his  life  in  his  hands  and 
carry  him  certain  letters.  I  know  you  to  be  a 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     229 

Protestant ;  will  you  do  this  service  for  your 
faith?" 

I  did  not  hesitate  for  an  instant,  but  ex- 
pressed my  delight  at  being  honoured  with 
this  confidence. 

"  You  have  three  weeks,"  said  Francois,  "  in 
which  to  do  your  errand." 

"  It  is  scant  time,"  I  said,  "  to  ride  the  length 
of  the  kingdom  and  back  again.  Is  the  Prince 
of  Conde  at  Pau  or  at  Nerac  ?" 

"  He  is  not  in  Navarre,"  Fran9ois  replied. 
"  You  have  but  to  take  his  letter  to  Nevers." 

"To  Nevers  !"  I  exclaimed,  hardly  crediting 
my  ears. 

"  Exactly ;  and,  if  the  Prince  is  not  there, 
you  may  give  the  letter  to  his  sister,  the 
Duchess  of  Nevers,  who  will  know  how  to 
transmit  it  to  him.  But  on  your  life  say  no- 
thing of  the  matter  to  her  husband.  You 
blanch  !  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

I  told  him  to  give  me  any  other  service,  but 
I  could  not  go  to  Nevers. 

"  Then  will  you  go  to  Blois  ?  We  need 
someone  at  Court  to  watch  and  to  send  in- 
formation." 

"  A  spy  ?  " 

"  Precisely.      Have  you  friends  at  Court  ?" 

"  I    have   one    friend  who   will    not    forget 


230  Renaissance  Chateaux 

having  known  me  at  Chenonceau.      I  will  go, 
and  I  think  I  can  serve  you." 
"  And  who  is  the  friend  ?" 
"  Her  Majesty  !  the  Queen-Consort." 
"  Capital.      No  one  could  think  to  find  one 
of    our   accomplices    among  the   proteges    of 
Marie  Stuart,  niece  of  the  Guises." 

"  I  have  also,"  I  said,  "  some  slight  acquaint- 
ance with  the  Cardinal  of  Lorraine  and  with 
the  King,  but  I  think  my  best  chance  is  with 
the  ladies." 

II 

AT    THE    CHATEAU    OF    BLOIS 

Francois  de  Montmorency  had  requested  me 
to  secrete  the  letter  which  he  wished  to  send 
the  Prince  de  Conde  within  a  votive  candle,  for 
he  had  arranged  this  means  of  communication 
with  his  cousin  while  he  was  in  Ecouen. 
Francois  knew  the  chateaux  where  he  would  be 
found  at  different  dates,  and  as  churches  are 
everywhere  open  to  all  he  had  agreed  to  place 
a  peculiar  taper  on  a  certain  altar  when  he  had 
any  news  to  impart. 

Michel  Michaud  was  to  pretend  to  be  an 
itinerant  pedler  of  votive  images  for  shrines, 
and  among  these  was  a  box  of  wax  candles, 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     231 

each  decorated,  as  is  common  in  ecclesiastical 
chandlery,  with  a  spiral  garland  of  little  waxen 
roses.  In  the  centre  of  one  of  these  I  placed 
the  letter  to  the  Prince,  carefully  removing  the 
wick  to  make  room  for  it  and  remodelling  the 
garland  where  it  was  broken.  It  was  by  this 
absence  of  the  wick  alone  that  Michaud  could 
tell  the  important  candle  from  the  ones  which 
he  was  to  sell.  Having  assisted  in  this  trifling 
matter,  I  set  out  directly  to  Blois,  having  other 
errands  to  perform  for  Francois  and  general  in- 
structions to  hold  myself  ready  for  any  service 
which  might  present  itself.  Arrived  at  Blois, 
I  went  to  the  chateau  and  asked  for  an  inter- 
view with  the  you  nor  Oueen,  Marie  Stuart. 

J  O         '**-' 

The  guards  laughed  at  my  temerity  and  de- 
tained me  while  they  sent  my  request  to  the 
Cardinal  of  Lorraine,  into  whose  presence  I 
was  ushered.  "  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  asked,  sus- 
piciously, "  and  what  do  you  want  with  my 
niece  ?" 

"  I  had  hoped,"  I  replied,  "  that  your  Emin- 
ence would  remember  Jean  Goujon,  who  was 
employed  by  the  Duchesse  de  Valentinois  at 
Chenonceau." 

"  Young  man,"  replied  the  Cardinal,  "  that  is 
not  a  good  name  to  conjure  with.  The 
Duchess  is  out  of  favour.  Everyone  at  Court 


232  Renaissance  Chateaux 

has  a  short  memory  so  far  as  she  or  any  of  her 
people  are  concerned.  Let  me  assure  you  in 
advance  that  it  will  be  useless  for  you  to 
attempt  to  give  the  Queen  any  message  from 
her,  or  to  do  anything  for  her  at  Court.  Her 
career  is  as  finally  closed  as  if  she  were  dead, 
and  it  was  of  such  a  character  that  the  last 
thing  she  can  hope  for  is  resurrection." 

His  suspicions  were  so  wide  of  the  mark 
that  the  solicitude  which  his  unfavourable  re- 
ception had  at  first  given  me  vanished  at  once, 
and  my  relief  flared  in  my  face.  "  My  business 
is  my  own,"  I  said,  "and  has  nothing  to  do 
with  my  former  patroness."  With  that  I  re- 
peated the  story  which  I  had  conned  all  along 
the  route,  so  that  it  fell  trippingly  from  my 
tongue,  how  I  had  heard  that  the  chateau  of 
Blois  was  to  be  embellished,  and  I  desired  to 
have  a  finger  in  that  work. 

"  I  did  indeed  remember  you,"  he  said, 
thoughtfully,  "  but  it  was  only  as  the  boatman 
of  Chenonceau.  If  you  are  indeed  Jean  Gou- 
jon  the  statuary,  and  have  come  hither  on  your 
own  occasions,  it  would  have  been  but  natural 
for  you  to  have  brought  some  piece  of  sculp- 
ture with  you.  I  know  Goujon's  style  of  work 
well  and  cannot  be  deceived." 

Without   a   word    I    opened    my  knapsack 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     233 

and  handed  the  Cardinal  a  statuette,  which  I 
had  brought  in  anticipation  of  such  a  demand. 
The  Cardinal  was  a  connoisseur,  and  he  was 
delighted.  "  You  may  cast  this  statuette  in 
bronze  for  me,"  he  said.  "  There  is  a  foundry 
in  the  suburbs.  Antoine,  write  a  passport  per- 
mitting Jean  Goujon  to  go  and  come  as  he 
pleases.  A  line,  too,  to  Philippe  Hurault ; 
his  chateau  of  Cheverny  is  near  the  foundry. 
Ask  the  Chancellor  to  entertain  my  friend 
while  he  is  overseeing  the  casting.  There, 
young  man  ;  I  do  not  see  that  you  can  ask 
more  of  me  than  this." 

"  Only  this,  your  Eminence,"  I  cried,  as  I  saw 
myself  exiled  to  a  distance  from  the  Court, 
"  that  you  will  allow  me  first  to  take  a  look  at 
this  noble  chateau." 

"  Certainly,  certainly ;  I  will  myself  walk 
around  with  you."  And  the  Cardinal  at  once 
accorded  me  that  honour. 

As  I  stood  in  honest  admiration  before  that 
wonder  of  beauty,  the  spiral  staircase  which 
forms  the  central  motive  of  the  wing  of  Francis 
I.,  I  cried  joyfully,  "  It  is  French,  it  is  all  French; 
they  lie  who  say  that  it  was  built  by  an  Italian." 

"  And  yet  I  have  heard,"  said  the  Cardinal, 
"  that  Leonardo  da  Vinci  designed  its  spiral 
from  the  convolutions  of  a  shell." 


234  Renaissance  Chateaux 

I  studied  it  more  carefully  and  my  admira- 
tion for  its  wonderful  construction  grew.  "  If 
Leonardo  had  been  a  Frenchman,  yes,"  I  re- 
plied. "  But  see  you  not  how  every  detail 
of  the  entire  facade  is  in  harmonious  pro- 
portion ?  The  mind  that  planned  the  stair- 
case designed  the  whole ;  it  is  not  in  any 
way  Italian ;  it  is  Nepveu,  but  Nepveu  in- 
spired with  a  genius  that  he  shows  nowhere 
else." 

Then,  as  I  marked  that  the  niches  at  its  foot 
were  void,  I  cried  :  "  Ah  !  your  Eminence  ; 
suffer  me  to  carve  statues  for  these  niches.  I 
ask  no  guerdon  of  any  kind.  It  shall  be  a 
labour  of  love  with  me."  I  swear  that  as  I 
said  this  I  had  no  thought  of  how  this  was 
exactly  what  I  wanted — some  excuse  to  be  often 
in  the  castle.  Transported  by  the  rapture 
which  the  first  view  of  that  perfect  creation  of 
puissant  genius  had  given  me,  I  forgot  every- 
thing save  that  I,  too,  was  a  creator  ;  and  an 
overmastering  desire  inflamed  me  to  have  a 
part  in  making  still  more  beautiful  this  marvel 
of  beauty.  The  earnestness  of  my  desire  pro- 
claimed itself  in  my  voice,  and  by  a  strange 
fatality  the  two  Queens  were  standing  at  an 
open  window  and  heard  my  cry.  Marie  Stuart 
recognized  me  and  exclaimed  : 


i 


SPIRAL  STAIRCASE,  CHATEAU  OF  BLOIS. 
(By  permission  of  Neurdein,  Paris.) 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     235 

"  It  is  Jean  Goujon  !  Francois,  dearest,  there 
is  our  old  friend." 

The  King  came  to  the  window  and  beckoned, 
and  the  Cardinal  could  but  lead  me  through 
the  salle  des  gardes,  into  the  galerie  de  la 
reine,  where  the  royal  family  were  assembled. 
The  young  monarch  and  his  Queen  greeted 
me  kindly,  and  presented  me  to  Catherine  de' 
Medici,  and  the  Cardinal  explained  my  pre- 
tended errand.  Marie  Stuart  uro-ed  that  I 

o 

should  be  engaged  to  fill  the  staircase  niches 
with  statues. 

If  I  could  have  had  the  planning  of  events 
they  could  not  have  progressed  more  to  my 
liking. 

While  I  was  measuring  the  niches,  the  esca- 
dron  volant,  the  maids  of  honour  of  the  Queen- 
Mother,  passed  down  the  staircase  chattering 
as  gaily  as  a  flock  of  sparrows.  The  last  of  the 
procession  looked  at  me  saucily,  with  her  head 
on  one  side,  and  asked  if  I  were  Jean  Goujon. 

"At  your  service,  Mademoiselle,"  and  my 
beret  swept  the  gravel. 

"  No,  not  at  mine,  thank  heaven  !  I  have  no 
need  of  another  gallant,  but  if  you  are  still  at 
the  service  of  Mademoiselle  de  Cleves,  be  on 
the  Breton's  Perch  when  the  bells  are  chiming 
for  complines." 


236  Renaissance  Chateaux 

"  Is  the  daughter  of  the  Due  de  Nevers 
in  Blois  ?  "  I  asked  in  surprise.  "Why  not?" 
the  demoiselle  flung  me  an  answer,  "  since  the 
Queen  chooses  the  noblest  and  handsomest 
maidens  of  the  kingdom  for  her  train  ?  " 

If  I  dreaded  to  see  Catherine  of  Cleves,  yet 
it  was  not  in  me  to  resist,  and  when  the  chimes 
rang  I  went  to  the  terrace  to  wait  for  my  ap- 
pointment. As  I  leaned  upon  the  balustrade, 
watching  the  lights  come  out  in  the  clear  sky, 
I  was  ware  of  a  young  courtier  who  was  stand- 
ing near  me,  apparently  taking  the  same  de- 
light that  I  did  in  the  scene.  Presently  he 
began  to  pace  the  terrace  with  something  of 
impatience,  and  I  was  vaguely  conscious  that  he 
was  displeased  by  my  presence.  Finally  he 
seated  himself  on  the  balustrade  in  such  a  way 
as  to  cut  off  my  view,  and  stared  at  me  in- 
solently. His  dark  eyes  and  handsome  face, 
its  contours  rounder  than  our  sharp  angles,  told 
me  that  he  was  an  Italian.  "  One  of  the  de' 
Medici  faction,"  I  said  to  myself,  and  I  waited 
his  pleasure. 

Having  stared  at  me  for  a  full  minute,  he 
said,  with  a  laugh  :  "  Unless  you  have  press- 
ing business  on  this  terrace  at  this  particular 
hour,  you  will  greatly  oblige  me,  my  man,  if 
you  will  do  your  star-gazing  elsewhere." 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     237 

I  was  about  to  ask  if  the  place  was  not  free 
to  all,  when  a  silvery  laugh  rippled  softly  from 
behind  a  door  opening  from  the  Queen's  apart- 
ments. My  gentleman  flushed  to  the  roots  of 
his  hair,  then  he  exclaimed  frankly  :  "  I  appeal 
to  your  courtesy.  I  have  a  rendezvous  here 
with  one  of  the  Queen's  ladies-in-waiting." 

I  made  a  profound  bow  and  replied  that 
nothing  would  have  given  me  more  pleasure 
than  to  show  my  appreciation  of  his  confidence 
by  immediately  retiring  were  it  not  that  this 
was  precisely  my  own  errand  on  the  terrace. 
I  did  not  quite  finish  this  explanation,  for  a 
velvet  cape  was  thrown  over  my  head  from 
behind,  and  when  I  had  disembarrassed  myself 
from  its  folds  I  saw  that  it  had  been  thrown  by 
the  gallant's  lady,  and  that  she  had  improved 
the  interval  of  my  extinguishment  to  greet  her 
lover  in  a  manner  quite  satisfactory  to  himself. 

It  was  not,  indeed,  sweet  Catherine  Cleves  of 
Chenonceau,  though  for  the  instant  the  re- 
markable resemblance  between  the  sisters  de- 
ceived me,  but  the  eldest  daughter  of  the 
Due  de  Nevers,  the  fascinating  Henriette. 
She  now  presented  me  to  Louis  Gonzaga, 
whose  ruffled  feathers  settled  themselves  more 
smoothly  as  she  explained  my  former  service 
to  her  sister. 


238  Renaissance  Chateaux 

"  The  Queen  wishes  to  have  us  both  at 
Court,"  she  said  to  me,  "  in  order  to  provide 
us  with  suitable  partis.  I  am  exceedingly  well 
content  with  her  choice  for  me,  not  because 
Louis  is  the  son  of  the  Duke  of  Mantua,  a 
favourite  of  the  Queen  Mother's,  and  has  been 
brought  up  with  the  royal  princes, — not  at  all  for 
these  reasons,  mon  ami ;  indeed  they  quite  put 
me  against  you  at  first, — but  because,  in  spite 
of  all  this,  you  are — you  are—  But  the  pretty- 
minx  seemed  to  find  some  difficulty  in  express- 
ing herself,  for  the  young  courtier  promptly 
closed  her  mouth,  as  I  should  have  done  in  his 
place,  and  Henriette  ended  her  sentence  :  "  You 
are  the  most  presumptuous,  impudent,  unman- 
nerly— sweetheart  in  all  the  world." 

I  returned  to  the  balustrade  and  resumed 
my  astrological  studies,  wondering  why  I  had 
been  summoned  to  this  interview.  After  a 
time  they  became  aware  of  my  presence,  and 
Henriette  again  exasperated  her  lover  by  tell- 
ing me  how  she  had  heard  my  name  mentioned 
by  Marie  Stuart,  and  wished  to  tell  me  of  her 
sister  Catherine's  gratitude. 

"She  is  well?"  I  hoped. 

"  In  health,  yes  ;  but  she  is  unhappy,  for, 
though  she  was  betrothed  to  Antoine  de  Croy 
at  Chenonceau,  it  was  the  doing  of  the  Cardinal 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     239 

of  Lorraine,  but  Marie  Stuart  does  not  approve 
of  de  Croy,  and  has  forbidden  the  marriage, 
so  there  Catherine  mopes  in  our  old  Chateau  of 
Nevers.  Your  coming  has  evidently  brought 
it  all  to  the  Queen's  mind,  for  when  she  told 
me  that  you  were  here,  she  added :  '  And 
though  he  is  only  a  sculptor,  he  is  a  very 
proper  man,  and  I  would  liefer  give  your  sister 
to  him  than  to  see  her  wed  that  heretic,  de 
Croy.'" 

For  an  instant  wild  questions  flamed  in  my 
brain :  Why  had  Marie  Stuart  said  that  ? 
Had  she  guessed  ?  Why  had  Catherine's 
sister  repeated  the  remark  to  me  ?  Was  there 
hope  ?  Then  I  remembered  that  she  had  said 
that  Catherine  was  unhappy  though  betrothed, 
and  my  heart  beat  to  suffocation,  and  I  steadied 
myself  against  the  wall,  for  I  was  like  to  fall. 

They  did  not  regard  me,  but  Gonzaga  asked 
if  de  Croy  was  noble.  "  'T  is  so  ancient  a 
family,"  said  Henriette,  "that  they  have  a 
tapestry  which  depicts  Noah  sailing  in  the 
ark,  while  a  drowning  man  holds  out  to  him  a 
parchment,  and  from  his  mouth  issues  a  long 
banderole,  on  which  is  written  :  '  My  friend, 
save  the  genealogical  papers  of  the  de  Croys.' " 

I  fell  into  a  muse  and  cursed  the  business 
that  had  kept  me  at  Blois,  envying  Michel 


240  Renaissance  Chateaux 

Michaud  his  errand  to  Nevers,  and  I  swore  to 
myself  that  so  soon  as  I  was  a  free  man  I 
would  journey  to  Nevers  and  know  why  Cath- 
erine de  Cleves  was  unhappy.  I  was  encour- 
aged in  this  ambitious  resolve  by  a  visit  which 
the  young  King  and  Queen  made  to  my  tem- 
porary atelier  a  few  days  later.  One  of  the 
statues  had  been  finished  in  the  clay,  and  was 
growing  apace  in  the  marble.  Francis  was 
pleased  with  it,  and  promised  that  I  should  re- 
ceive recognition  which  would  content  me  on 
the  completion  of  the  work.  He  also  asked 
what  guerdon  I  had  received  for  saving  his 
Queen's  life  on  the  occasion  of  our  first  ac- 
quaintance at  Chenonceau.  And  when  I  re- 
plied, "  The  privilege  and  honour  of  serving 
her,"  he  swore  that  it  was  a  gross  neglect ; 
men  had  been  ennobled  for  less,  and  he  would 
see  to  it  that  I  should  not  write  him  down 
ungrateful. 

That  word  "ennobled"  danced  before  my 
eyes  like  a  Will-o'-the-wisp.  One  dash  of  the 
King's  pen  could  make  me  the  equal  of  An- 
toine  de  Croyand  place  me  on  another  footing 
with  the  proud  Duke  of  Nevers.  Save  for 
these  matters,  ten  days  passed  uneventfully. 
I  laboured  upon  my  statue  and  it  grew  apace, 
and  at  last,  marking  this,  the  Cardinal  sent  for 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     241 

me  to  enquire  when  I  would  begin  his  statu- 
ette. I  told  him  "  Presently,"  and  as  I  was 
leaving  he  said  :  "  Stay ;  you  can  help  me  in  a 
trifling  matter." 

I  at  once  felt  that  this  was  the  true  reason 
for  our  interview,  but  I  was  nevertheless  taken 
aback  when  Antoine  handed  his  master  the 
candle  which  I  had  ornamented  for  Francois  de 
Montmorency.  It  was  broken  in  three  pieces 
and  the  letter  to  the  Prince  de  Conde  protruded. 

"  This  innocent-appearing  object,"  the  Car- 
dinal explained,  "  was  taken  last  night  by  some 
of  our  soldiers  from  a  rogue.  Its  real  nature 
would  not  have  been  discovered  had  the  cap- 
tors not  attempted  to  light  it.  It  contains  a 
letter  to  the  Prince  de  Conde  and  gives  inform- 
ation of  a  heretic  plot.  It  is  most  fortunate 
that  it  has  fallen  into  my  hands." 

"It  will  be  an  interesting  curio  to  keep  in 
your  Eminence's  cabinet  of  carvings,"  I  said, 
carelessly. 

"  Nay,"  replied  the  Cardinal,  "  it  has  too 
important  a  part  to  play.  The  candle  was  not 
broken  open  in  the  prisoner's  presence.  He 
does  not  know  that  its  secret  has  been  dis- 
covered. It  suits  my  plans  better  that  it  should 
be  returned  to  him  as  it  was  taken,  and  that  he 
should  take  it  to  its  destination.  Let  the  plot 

16 


242  Renaissance  Chateaux 

go  on  and  the  wicked  involve  themselves  with 
impunity,  fancying  that  they  are  undetected. 
What  I  wish  you  to  do,  Jean  Goujon,  is  to 
mend  that  candle  so  cleverly  that  no  one  will 
detect  that  it  has  been  opened." 

"  But  I  have  no  wax  of  that  colour,"  I 
protested. 

"  Antoine  has  provided  wax  and  colours.  Sit 
at  that  table.  A  little  manipulation  of  your 
deft  fingers  will  make  all  right." 

I  sat  down  as  I  was  bidden,  and  a  servant 
was  sent  for  my  modelling  tools.  How  I 
regretted  not  providing  my  candle  with  a 
wick  !  Had  I  done  so  it  would  have  burned, 
and  the  fatal  letter  with  it.  I  had  no  op- 
portunity to  abstract  the  missive,  for  the 
Cardinal  stood  over  me  and  saw  it  safely  en- 
closed. I  hung  about  the  door  of  the  chateau, 
waiting  to  see  what  became  of  the  candle. 
Antoine  came  out  presently  and  handed  a 
roll  to  a  soldier  who  was  lounging  near  by 
and  who  carried  it  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
prison.  I  had  just  determined  to  watch  for 
the  liberation  of  Montmorency's  messenger 
when  a  lackey  stepped  up  with  the  informa- 
tion that  the  Queen  Mother  wished  to  see 
me  in  her  library.  There  was  nothing  for 
me  to  do  but  to  follow  ;  and  I  confess  that 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     243 

when  I  found  myself  alone  with  Catherine  de' 
Medici  I  trembled  more  than  I  had  done  in 
the  presence  of  the  Cardinal.  Her  greeting 
was  not  reassuring. 

"  I  have  just  received  information,"  she 
said,  "of  a  Huguenot  plot.  I  have  no  idea 
that  Admiral  Coligny  or  the  Prince  de  Conde 
are  concerned  in  it,  but  in  order  that  their 
innocence  may  be  evident  to  those  who  would 
glory  in  seeing  them  implicated,  I  have  asked 
the  Cardinal  of  Lorraine  to  summon  them 
to  come  for  our  defence  to  Amboise,  where 
we  are  about  to  remove.  I  fear  that  the 
Cardinal  may  not  have  been  sufficiently  per- 
suasive. I  would  not  have  him  know  this, 
but  I  desire  to  send  a  secret  message  to  the 
Pitince  de  Conde  (I  have  no  doubt  of  Coligny's 
coming),  and  I  have  chosen  you  for  this 
errand.  Take  him  this  safe-conduct,  and 
haste,  for  it  is  a  long  way  to  Navarre." 

Burning  with  my  knowledge  that  the  Prince 
was  at  Nevers,  and  that  I  might  overtake  the 
messenger,  who  was  even  now  on  his  way 
with  the  fatal  candle,  I  nearly  blurted  every- 
thing out,  but  the  Queen  raised  her  hand 
and  pointed  toward  the  anteroom.  She  had 
heard  a  door  open  softly ;  someone  had  just 
entered. 


244  Renaissance  Chateaux 

"As  I  was  saying,"  she  continued  calmly, 
raising  her  voice  slightly,  "  I  am  greatly 
pleased  with  your  statues  for  the  staircase 
and  am  willing  to  grant  your  request  for  a 
leave  of  absence,  but  return  soon,  for  we  shall 
want  more  of  your  carving."  She  handed 
me  a  purse,  and  as  I  went  from  her  presence 
I  was  not  surprised  that  I  stumbled  into 
the  arms  of  the  Cardinal's  secretary.  "  Tell 
his  Eminence,"  I  said,  "that  I  am  off  to 
Cheverny  to  see  to  the  casting  of  his 
statuette." 

I  had  struggled  against  fate  to  no  pur- 
pose— it  was  taking  me  straight  to  Nevers 
and  to  Catherine ! 

Ill 

THE  SWAN  KNIGHT 

"  In  old  Nevers,  so  famous  for  its 
Dark,  narrow  streets  and  Gothic  turrets." 

I  rode  into  the  city  of  Nevers  by  the  old 
Porte  du  Croux,  and  having  refreshed  myself 
at  the  inn  I  reconnoitred  the  ducal  chateau. 
The  gatekeeper  assured  me  that  the  Lady 
Catherine  was  not  at  home,  and  I  entered  the 
cathedral,  which  backed  against  the  castle 
walls;  I  went  to  the  altar  where  Michel  Michaud 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     245 

was  to  place  the  votive  candle  and  hardly  knew 
whether  to  be  assured  or  alarmed  by  not  find- 
ing it.  I  had  slept  at  Bourges  and  had  been 
delayed  in  that  city  longer  than  I  had  reckoned 
upon,  and  it  was  quite  time  that  the  taper 
should  be  in  place. 

As  I  stood  staring  at  the  altar  I  heard  a  foot- 
step and  I  dropped  decorously  upon  my  knees. 
A  veiled  lady  entered  the  chapel,  her  arms 
filled  with  white  flowers.  She  approached  the 
altar  and  filled  its  vases.  I  thought  at  first 
that  she  was  a  nun  who  had  this  office  in  charge, 

*5       ' 

but  presently  her  veil  fell  back  and  though  her 
sweet  face  was  touched  with  sadness  I  recocf- 

o 

nised  Catherine  of  Cleves.  I  wondered  at  first 
that  she,  an  ardent  Protestant,  should  do  this 
service,  but  presently  I  noted  that  she  passed 
the  statue  of  the  Virgin  without  genuflexion, 
that  her  touch  as  she  bent  and  grouped  the 
flower  stalks,  standing  back  with  her  head  on 
one  side  to  catch  the  effect  of  her  arrangement, 
was  critical  rather  than  reverential,  and  as  she 
furtively  lifted  one  of  the  tapers  from  its  can- 
dlestick and  scrutinised  it  I  was  convinced 
that  she  had  been  sent  by  the  Prince  de  Conde 
to  receive  the  expected  message. 

There  was  no  one  else  in  the  chapel,  and  as 
she  turned  from  the  altar  I  rose  from  my  knees. 


246  Renaissance  Chateaux 

She  started,  but  an  expression  of  pleasure 
which  I  shall  never  forget  swept  over  her 
features.  So  admirable  was  her  self-control 
that  she  did  not  speak  my  name  but  beckoned 
smilingly,  and  leading  me  to  a  side  portal  we 
found  ourselves  in  the  garden  of  the  chateau. 
Then  catching  both  my  hands  in  hers,  she 
laughed  with  happiness. 

"  'T  is  good  to  see  you,  Jean  Goujon  ;  I  have 
hoped  that  you  would  come.  How  fine  you 
are  !  I  knew  you  would  make  your  fortune. 
You  must  tell  my  father  your  errand  in  Nevers  ; 
he  will  be  delighted  to  forward  it." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  I  replied,  devour- 
ing her  with  my  eyes.  "  At  all  events  I  would 
rather  tell  it  to  you  first,  and  have  your  opin- 
ion whether  we  dare  present  it  to  the  Duke." 

"  As  you  will.  I  remember,  too,  that  my 
mother  has  gone  out ;  so  come  with  me  to  the 
end  of  the  garden.  We  are  on  a  height  that 
overlooks  the  Loire,  and  you  shall  have  the 
most  glorious  view  in  France." 

It  was  indeed  a  superb  point  of  vantage,  this 
esplanade  from  whose  parapet  we  looked  sheer 
down  and  away  over  the  sleepy  river,  which 
loitered  through  the  misty  landscape  in  many 
an  undecided  curve,  as  though  reluctant  to 
leave  this  enchanted  region. 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     247 

But  I  had  no  eyes  for  beauty  other  than  her 
own ;  I  let  her  speak  without  interruption,  not 
realising  what  she  said,  absorbed  in  the  pure 
joy  of  seeing  her  once  more,  in  watching  how 
the  colour  flickered  to  her  pale  cheeks  and  how 
the  heavy  curling  lashes  fluttered  down  as  she 
felt  my  earnest  gaze  ;  but  the  deepening  of  a 
dimple  at  the  corner  of  her  perfect  lips  and  the 
shy  glances  of  her  dark  eyes  told  me  that  she 
was  not  displeased. 

"  I  have  met  your  sister  Henriette,"  I  said  ; 
"  I  saw  her  at  Blois." 

"  We  are  alike,  are  we  not  ?  Everyone  says 
so." 

I  forgot  that  I  had  mistaken  her  sister  for 
her,  and  protested  that  they  were  very  unlike. 

"We  have  each  of  us  our  mother's  eyes  and 
her  trick  of  looking  aslant,  which  people  who 
do  not  love  us  call  affectation,  but  which  is 
only  timidity." 

"  Henriette  is  not  timid,"  I  cried.  "  She 
stared  me  out  of  countenance  in  that  quizzical 
way  of  hers,  and  her  lips  have  not  the  exquisite 
curve  that  yours  have." 

"  You  are  very  observant,  Monsieur,  and  very 
frank.  I  suppose  one  must  not  resent  it  from 
an  artist,  and  from  a  man  of  your  years.  You 
are  past  forty,  are  you  not?" 


248  Renaissance  Chateaux 

I  felt  a  chill  pass  over  me.  "  Yes,  I  am 
past  forty,  but  that  is  not  decrepitude." 

"  You  are  old  enough  to  be  my  father,  but 
you  do  not  seem  quite  like  my  father  to  me." 

"  I  should  hope  not.  How  malicious  you 
are  !  I  had  no  thought  of  it,  but  you  do  re- 
semble your  sister.  That  sidelong  glance 
you  both  have  is  coquettish,  and  very  repre- 
hensible. Now  I  think  of  it,  you  most  de- 
cidedly resemble  your  sister."  She  laughed 
merrily:  "What  nonsense  we  are  talking!  I 
have  not  been  so  happy  or  so  foolish  in  years, 
not  since  that  happy  summer  at  Chenonceau. 
But,  Jean  Goujon,  I  am  not  coquettish.  Oh  ! 
if  you  only  knew.  But  there  is  my  father !  " 

I  could  only  bow,  for  the  Duke  was  within 
ear-shot,  but  I  cursed  my  criminal  negligence 
of  a  golden  opportunity.  I  had  not  given 
the  Queen's  message,  and  it  was  a  matter  of 
life  or  death  to  the  Prince  de  Conde. 

"Jean  Goujon  is  indeed  well  come,  in  every 
sense,"  he  said,  condescendingly,  "  for  I  am 
endeavouring  so  to  enrich  this  home  of  our 
race  that  my  descendants  may  have  the  same 
gratitude  for  me  which  I  feel  for  the  men  who 
reared  it.  Take  a  turn  with  me  and  tell  me  if 
we  are  not  right  in  cherishing  this  old  chateau." 

Built     in     the    previous    century,     on    the 


f  \ 

\ 


.  f  II 

UJ  "( 

co  «  s  — 

5  "5  «u 

O  t  ^  a 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     249 

foundations  of  a  still  older  castle  whose  grim 
round  towers  I  had  encountered  as  I  attempted 
to  enter  it  from  the  city,  the  edifice  which 
formed  the  background  to  the  garden  was  of  an 
entirely  different  character,  bespeaking  the 
transition  to  our  own  time  and  showing  that 
the  previous  Dukes  of  Nevers,  like  the  present 
one,  had  been  men  who  lavished  their  wealth 
under  the  direction  of  cultured  taste.  Two 
beautiful  octagonal  towers  rose  at  either  end 
of  the  building,  their  extinguisher  roofs  cutting 
sharply  into  the  sky,  while  a  more  elegant 
tourelle  rose  in  the  centre.  The  roof  of  this 
tower  was  peculiarly  graceful.  There  was 
something  in  the  slightly  concave  sweep  of  its 
curves  from  the  tiny  belvedere  which  crowned 
its  apex  which  reminded  me  of  the  long  lines 
oi  a  lady's  robe,  and  I  half  expected  to  see  the 
glint  of  a  white  hand  in  its  dexterous  manipula- 
tion of  the  train. 

"  Do  you  wonder  that  we  love  our  home?" 
Catherine  asked,  and  her  father  added  :  "  You 
see  that  I  am  changing  the  roof.  I  wish  to 
add  six  monumental  windows  and  to  ornament 
them  with  sculpture  which  will  leave  on  the 
chateau  the  imprint  of  this  age  as  well  as 
proof  that  I  regard  my  origin  with  pride  and 
affection." 


250  Renaissance  Chateaux 

He  then  related  the  family  legend1  which  I 
will  here  set  down  as  well  as  I  remember  it. 

THE   LEGEND   OF   THE  SWAN    KNIGHT 

On  a  certain  day  the  noble  Lord  Engilbert 
of  Cleves  held  a  tourney  at  his  castle  of 
Schwanenburg  on  the  Rhine — a  tourney  whose 
prize  was  to  be  the  hand  of  his  heiress  and  only 
child,  for,  having  no  son  to  carry  on  his  line, 
he  desired  that  the  son-in-law  who  should  take 
upon  himself  the  name  and  honours  of  Cleves 
should  be  the  most  valorous  knight  in  all  the 
kingdom. 

Many  had  contended  and  Ernst  von  Falken- 
stein  had  overcome  them  all.  But  the  doughti- 
est is  not  always  the  worthiest,  and  Elsa  of 
Cleves  was  aghast  with  apprehension,  for  Von 
Falkenstein  had  a  most  evil  reputation,  and 
she  prayed  with  all  her  might  to  be  delivered 
from  him.  The  time  set  for  competition  was 
almost  spent,  and  Ernst  had  sat  for  an  hour  on 
his  black  horse  unchallenged,  when  suddenly 
there  was  heard  the  flute-like  note  of  a  silver 
horn,  and  a  snowy  swan  was  seen  gracefully 
gliding  along  the  river  towards  the  spot  on  its 

1  This  legend,  a  happy  variant  of  Lohengrin,  is  sculptured  in  bas- 
relief  beneath  the  dormers  of  the  chateau  of  Nevers.  The  original 
tablets,  attributed  to  Jean  Goujon,  have  been  restored  by  Jouffroy. 


250  Renaissance  Chateaux 

He  then  related,  the  family  le  .end1  which  I 
will  here  set  down  as  \v»jl!  as  I  •  emember  it. 

THi-    :  t •'.(•"-•  KNIGHT 

O:;    •  v-'iain  •  Lord  Engilbert 

<>f    l,"!«-vcb    ru-M     i    if'-  i    his    castle    of 

Schwanciiburg  «"1  tlv  .4  tourney  whose 
prize  was  to  be  the  tun-               •  n-'in'ss  and  only 

child,  for,  having   n;  ry  on   his  line, 

h(^  desired  that  the  -  so  should  take 

upon    himself  the  n:i-,--'  r.-.rs  ni  Cieves 

sliould  be  the  mu-,t    ,  ••  .ill  tru-. 


stem  had  overcome 
est    is    not.   always 
Clew.-,  \vas  aghast  ^ 
Falkenst<  it;    had   a 
she  prayed  \vr.h.  a)' 


>st  sper 
black    !i 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     251 

banks  where  the  lists  were  held.  The  swan 
wore  a  golden  collar,  and  attached  to  it  by 
silver  chains  was  a  light,  shell-shaped  boat,  in 
which  stood  a  handsome  young  knight  armed 
at  all  points.  Alighting,  the  knight  bade  fare- 
well to  his  swan,  and  after  performing  prodi- 
gies of  valour  won  the  lady. 

He  made  her  a  faithful  and  loving  husband 
and  several  children  were  born  to  them,  but 
at  length  the  mother  was  stricken  with  mortal 
illness.  She  must  die,  said  the  leeches,  but 
Helias  bade  his  servants  bear  her  to  the 
river's  marge,  and  blew  a  blast  upon  his  horn, 
when  again  the  swan  and  the  magic  boat  ap- 
peared. Supporting  his  dying  wife  in  his 
arms  Helias  seated  himself  in  the  boat,  and, 
bidding  farewell  to  his  children,  told  them 
that  he  and  their  mother  were  going  to  a 
land  where  death  could  not  follow  and  so 
faded  from  their  view. 

"They  tell  me  that  I  am  descended  from 
that  immortal  knight,"  said  the  Duke  of 
Nevers,  "  and  sometimes  I  half  believe  the 
story." 

I  wondered  in  my  heart  whether  the  Duke 
would  be  willing  to  follow  the  example  of 
Engilbert  of  Cleves,  and  give  his  daughter  to 


252  Renaissance  Chateaux 

a  man  of  unknown  ancestry  if  so  be  his  exploits 
were  illustrious  and  his  love  great,  but  this  was 
not  the  time  to  ask  the  question.  There 
might  be  an  opportunity,  however,  for  he  had 
asked  me  to  bide  at  the  chateau  and  carve 
for  him  the  legend  of  the  Swan  Knight.  I 
looked  at  Catherine  and  thought  that  her  eyes 
said,  "  Stay,"  and  I  gladly  accepted  the  com- 
mission. That  very  afternoon  I  made  sketches 
for  the  windows.  Caryatides  supporting  the 
entablatures,  beautiful  women,  on  the  ladies' 
side  of  the  chateau,  and  strong  Atlantides  over 

o 

the  wing  devoted  to  the  men-at-arms,  with  the 
story  of  Helias  beneath. 

At  supper,  when  the  Duchess  of  Nevers 
learned  that  I  had  come  from  Blois  and  had 
seen  her  eldest  daughter,  she  had  more  quest- 
ions to  ask  than  I  could  well  answer.  It 
chanced  that  when  in  Italy  I  had  passed 
through  Mantua  and  had  seen  the  palace  of 
the  Gonzagas.  The  Duchess  bridled  with 
satisfaction  as  I  told  her  of  Primaticcio's  work 
in  its  halls,  the  frolic  revels  of  the  myth 
creatures. 

"  Primaticcio  ! "  exclaimed  the  Duke  ;  "  that 
was  the  name  of  the  artist  whom  Henriette 
wished  me  to  employ,  but  I  told  Catherine  I 
would  have  only  French  talent." 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     253 

"  You  would  have  done  better  to  have  se- 
cured Primaticcio,"  I  replied. 

"  But  he  is  your  rival,"  gasped  the  Duchess, 
while  Catherine  smiled  at  me,  and  replied  : 
"  Jean  Goujon  would  labour  harder  to  serve  a 
rival  than  to  serve  himself." 

"  You  will  not  succeed  in  your  attempt  to 
supplant  yourself  with  me,"  said  the  Duke. 
"  You  please  me  well,  Jean  Goujon  ;  I  want  no 
one  but  you." 

41  We  all  want  you,  Jean  Goujon,"  prattled 
the  little  Marie,  the  youngest  daughter  of  the 
house,  whom  the  Duke  called  his  frost-blossom 
because  she  bloomed  in  the  autumn  of  his  life. 
"  Tell  me  the  fairy  stories  of  the  myth  creat- 
ures that  you  saw  at  Mantua." 
„  So  after  supper  I  told  her  fairy  tales,  and 
her  cousin,  the  son  of  the  Prince  de  Conde, 
young  Henri  de  Bourbon,  who  was  visiting  in 
the  chateau,  came  and  listened.  It  was  the 
same  lad  who  had  spoken  so  disrespectfully 
to  the  Constable  de  Montmorency,  and  he 
recognised  me. 

"  I  saw  you  at  Ecouen,"  he  said  ;  "  my  mother 
is  there  still,  but  my  father  had  a  great  quarrel 
with  the  Constable  and  swears  he  will  never 
go  near  him  again." 

"Where    is    your    father?"    I     asked,     but 


254  Renaissance  Chateaux 

Catherine,  who  was  sitting  beside  me,  coughed 
warningly  and  the  boy  hung  his  head  and  said 
he  did  not  know. 

We  three  were  seated  a  little  apart,  so  that  I 
dared  to  reply  that  I  was  sorry  that  the  Prince 
was  not  at  Nevers,  for  I  had  a  message  of 
great  importance  for  him.  At  that  instant  the 
Duke  called  :  "  It  is  time  for  bed.  Jean  Gou- 
jon,  you  have  but  to  follow  your  nose  to  the 
end  of  the  corridor  and  then  mount  the  stair- 
case till  it  ends  in  your  chamber." 

With  that  Catherine  placed  a  candlestick  in 
my  hand,  saying  unconcernedly,  "  Good  night, 
and  pleasant  dreams." 

I  attempted  to  light  the  candle  at  the  log 
which  flamed  in  the  great  hooded  fireplace,  all 
the  time  doing  Catherine's  ready  wit  great  in- 
justice in  my  mind.  Why  could  she  not  see 
that  I  must  speak  with  her,  and  that  the 
matter  required  haste? 

But  as  the  candle  only  sputtered  in  the 
flame,  I  nearly  dropped  it,  for  though  its  gar- 
land of  roses  and  gilt  paper  had  been  scraped 
away  there  were  little  traces  of  them  left,  and  I 
recognized  the  taper  which  I  had  made  for 
Francis  Montmorency  and  which  I  had  so  un- 
willingly repaired  under  the  direction  of  the 
Cardinal  of  Lorraine.  But  why  had  Catherine 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     255 

placed  it  in  my  hands  ?  I  looked  to  her  for 
some  sign,  but  she  was  chatting  gaily  with 
her  father  and  I  stumbled  along  the  corridor 
doubly  in  the  dark  ;  but  with  the  Duke's  direc- 
tions the  way  was  easy  enough,  and  when  I  had 
groped  up  the  turret  staircase  a  long  line  of 
light  beneath  the  door  and  an  uneasy  footstep 
pacing  within  proclaimed  the  surprising  fact 
that  the  chamber  was  already  occupied, — and  a 
moment  later  I  stood  in  the  presence  of  the 
Prince  de  Conde.  He  was  crushed  at  first  by 
the  news  I  brought,  and  murmured  :  "  My  poor 
friends  !  I  fear  it  is  too  late  to  save  them,  but  I 
will  hasten  to  Vend6me  and  endeavour  to  stop 
the  attack." 

"  If  it  is  too  late,"  I  argued,  "you  will  only 
seal  your  own  fate  by  joining  them.  Send  a 
messenger  whom  you  can  trust,  and  for  your- 
self confide  in  this  assurance  of  the  Queen 
Mother  ;  I  believe  that  if  you  take  advantage 

J  O 

of  the  safe-conduct  which  she  sends  you  and  pre- 
sent yourself  immediately  at  Amboise,  where 
she  has  also  summoned  Coligny,  she  will  pro- 
tect you,  for  she  needs  you  as  a  balance 
against  the  power  of  the  Guises." 

What  I  said  evidently  had  weight  with  him, 
for  he  muttered  :  "  The  whole  thing  has  been 
badly  managed  ;  I  wish  I  had  taken  hold  of  it 


256  Renaissance  Chateaux 

myself  instead  of  allowing  La  Renaudie  to 
make  a  fiasco  of  it.  But  since  I  have  had  ab- 
solutely nothing  to  do  with  it  so  far,  why  should 
I  identify  myself  with  the  affair,  now  that  it  is 
lost?" 

"  Why,  indeed,"  I  replied,  "  except  to  send 
a  warning  ?  Would  your  H  ighness  like  to  have 
me  go  to  La  Renaudie  ?" 

"  No,"  he  replied ;  "  Antoine  de  Croy  is 
waiting  at  Romorantin.  I  will  send  him." 

With  that  we  descended  together  softly  to 
the  stables,  for  the  Prince  was  in  haste  to  be 
off  ;  and,  having  bid  him  God-speed,  I  returned 
to  the  turret  chamber  to  obey  the  behest  of  the 
Lady  Catherine  and  dream  sweet  dreams. 

The  next  morning  I  woke  betimes  and 
walked  in  the  garden,  thanking  God  for  the 
present  happiness  which  was  mine.  To  labour 
at  my  art  and  to  see  the  lady  of  my  love  day 
by  day  was  too  much  felicity  to  be  true,  and 
my  eyes  brimmed  with  blessed  tears.  I  had 
long  thought  that  when  I  was  over  the  anxiety 
and  stress  of  the  rapids  of  life  and  found  my- 
self in  quiet  waters  I  would  accept  no  more 
commissions  from  the  rich,  but  busy  myself  on 
a  conception  which  had  floated  vaguely  before 
my  imagination,  a  statue  of  a  divinely  beauti- 
ful woman  ;  and  as  it  was  to  be  a  work  for 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     257 

immortality,  I  so  named  the  statue  in  my 
thought.  The  form  of  this  ideal  shaped  itself 
more  distinctly  before  my  mental  vision  that 
morning  than  ever  before.  I  seemed  to  see 
my  statue  bending  toward  me  with  smiling 
lips  and  sidelong  glance  between  half-lifted 
lashes,  and  then  I  leaped  into  the  air,  for  I 
realised,  as  I  had  never  done  before,  that  this 
ideal  Immortality  who  had  haunted  my  dreams 
was  none  other  than  Catherine  herself.  "  I 
will  wait,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  the  event  of  this 
visit,  and  then,  if  God  is  pleased  to  bestow 
upon  me  this  supreme  bliss,  I  will  make  her 
and  myself  immortal."  Even  then  I  saw 
her  coming  down  the  garden  path  with  her 
arms  filled  with  flowers.  "  You  know  I  tend 
the  altar  of  the  Virgin,"  she  said,  with  just  the 
flicker  of  intention  ;  "  it  is  well  not  to  forget 
one's  enthusiasm  too  suddenly." 

"  You  are  so  very  clever,"  I  replied,  "  that 
you  quite  mystified  me  last  night ;  but  surely, 
now  that  we  are  alone,  we  may  talk  so  openly 
that  there  shall  be  no  possibility  of  misunder- 
standing." 

With  that  I  told  her  of  my  interview  with 
the  Prince  de  Conde,  and  how  I  hoped  that 
all  peril  for  him  was  averted.  She  listened 
eagerly,  but  seemed  alarmed  by  what  I  told 


258  Renaissance  Chateaux 

her.  "  Then  there  is  a  conspiracy  which  has 
failed,  and  those  who  have  taken  part  in  it  are 
in  danger  ?" 

"In  grave  danger,  sweet  Catherine." 

She  grew  as  white  as  the  flowers  which 
drifted  from  her  arms  and  strewed  the  walk. 
"Oh,  Jean  Goujon  !"  she  whispered,  as  I  caught 
her  in  my  arms,  "  do  you  know  what  has  be- 
come of  Antoine  de  Croy  ?" 

"  Is  his  safety  very  dear  to  you?"  I  asked, 
while  she  hid  her  face  on  my  shoulder  and 
burst  into  tears.  A  moment  before  my  whole 
body  would  have  thrilled  at  that  touch,  but 
now  I  was  cold  as  she  told  me  how  devotedly 
she  loved  him.  "  It  is  so  good  to  be  able  to 
confide  in  you,"  she  said,  smiling  up  at  me 
through  her  tears.  "  Since  the  Queen's  letter 
came,  prohibiting  our  engagement,  my  parents 
have  forbidden  me  to  speak  of  him." 

I  comforted  her  to  the  best  of  my  ability, 
telling  her  that  I  had  some  influence  with  the 
Queen,  which  I  would  use  in  his  behalf. 

"  You  are  like  a  father  to  me,  Jean  Goujon," 
she  said  gratefully.  "  My  own  father  means 
to  be  kind,  but  he  is  overcautious.  But  now 
that  you  have  promised  to  aid  us  I  am  sure 
that  all  will  be  well.  Will  you  warn  Antoine 
as  you  have  warned  my  uncle  ?  " 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     259 

"Yes,"  I  replied.  "It  happens  that  your 
uncle  told  me  not  only  where  he  is,  but  also 
his  future  movements.  Make  my  excuses  to 
the  Duke,  your  father,  for  if  I  am  to  overtake 
him  I  must  waste  no  time." 

"Certainly  not.  What  can  I  do  to  speed 
you  ?  I  will  tell  my  father  that  you  have  gone 
to  order  marble  and  will  come  again.  Come 
with  me  by  way  of  the  buttery  and  I  will  give 
you  your  stirrup-cup,  and  while  you  are  drink- 
ing I  will  write  a  line  to  Antoine  ;  but  you  must 
tell  him  for  me  all  I  have  not  time  to  write"  ; 
and  with  such  eager  prattle  as  this  she  hurried 
me  to  the  gates,  and  closed  behind  me  the 
doors  of  my  Paradise. 

It  is  a  poor  love  which  renounces  devoir 
when  hope  of  possession  ceases,  and  I  felt  the 
*,  sweetness  of  service  mingling  with  the  bitter- 
ness of  defeat  as  I  galloped  on  my  mission, 
overtaking  the  Prince  at  Romorantin,  from 
which  point  he  sent  Antoine  de  Croy  with  a 
message  to  La  Renaudie  to  give  up  the  under- 
taking, for  all  was  known.  I  bade  the  young 
man  cherish  his  life  for  Catherine's  sake, 
and  then  rode  on  with  Conde  to  Amboise.  We 
found  the  town  closed  to  all  comers,  but  the 
Prince  showed  his  summons  from  the  Queen  and 
I  flaunted  my  passport  signed  by  the  Cardinal 


260  Renaissance  Chateaux 

— "  Allow  the  bearer  to  pass  freely  in  and 
out  of  the  gates."  He  had  meant  it  for  Blois, 
but  as  he  had  not  signified  the  name  of  the 
town  it  did  as  well  for  Amboise.  I  sent  my 
name  in  at  the  castle  to  the  Queen  Mother,  but 
she  had  greater  matters  in  hand  and  let  me 
wait.  As  I  stood  before  the  chapel  of  St.  Hu- 
bert, studying  the  exquisite  frieze  above  the 
door,  Henriette  de  Cleves  greeted  me. 

She  was  uneasy,  for  though  she  had  been 
told  that  the  Court  had  removed  to  Amboise 
to  take  part  in  a  hunt,  there  were  many  indica- 
tions that  the  reason  of  their  sudden  coming 
was  one  of  far  graver  import,  and  the  hunt  not 
an  ordinary  one. 

"  I  thought  I  might  learn  more  about  it,"  she 
said,  "  if  I  came  down  to  see  the  blessing  of 
the  dogs." 

I  remembered  then  that  St.  Hubert  was  not 
only  the  patron  of  huntsmen,  but  of  their  dogs 
as  well,  and  that  it  was  customary  in  his  chapels 
to  bless  the  pack  on  the  eve  of  a  hunt.  To- 
night, instead  of  the  men  from  the  kennels 
leading  the  hounds,  there  came  almost  as  she 
spoke  men  bearing  four  litters,  and  on  these 
litters  were  piled  the  pikes  and  other  weapons 
of  the  soldiers.  We  followed  them  into  the 
chapel,  where  the  men  set  them  down  before 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     261 

the  altar,  and  a  chaplain  belonging  to  the  suite 
of  the  Cardinal  of  Lorraine  said  over  them  the 
prayer  for  a  successful  hunt  and  St.  Hubert's 
blessing  on  the  dogs  — 

"  May  your  scent  be  sure,  may  your  feet  be 
swift  to  follow,  your  teeth  strong  to  hold  and 
sharp  to  bite." 

Then  the  men  bore  the  litters  into  the  court- 
yard and  we  saw  that  the  place  was  full  of 
soldiers  who  had  witnessed  the  benediction  of 
their  arms  through  the  open  door,  though  the 
chapel  was  too  small  for  them  to  enter.  The 
chaplain  made  over  them  the  sign  of  the  cross 
as  they  knelt,  then  each  man  as  he  marched 
by  received  his  weapon  and  departed  to  his 
post. 

All  that  night  I  heard  in  my  dreams  the 
tramp  of  armed  men,  and  when  in  the  early 
\norning  I  went  to  the  park  gate  I  found  that 
it  had  been  solidly  walled  up  by  masons  who 
had  worked  all  night.  The  men  stationed 
here  were  all  Lorrainers,  and  presently  young 
Henri  of  Guise  came  up  with  a  message  from 
his  father. 

"  We  have  trapped  the  Huguenot  leaders," 
he  said,  not  recognising  me  in  his  excitement. 

o  o 

"  The  Queen  Mother  summoned  Conde,  Co- 
ligny,  and  his  brothers  to  meet  her  here  and 


262  Renaissance  Chateaux 

they  have  come  !  They  all  denied  that  they 
knew  anything  of  the  plot,  and  the  Prince  de 
Conde  threw  his  gauntlet  on  the  floor  in  the 
presence  of  the  Queen  and  challenged  anyone 
to  fight  with  him  who  questioned  his  loyalty. 
Then  you  should  have  seen  my  father.  He 
sprang  to  his  side,  exclaiming,  '  And  I  will  act 
as  your  second  !'  No  one  accepted  the  chal- 
lenge, and  my  uncle,  the  Cardinal,  says  it  was  a 
magnificent  stroke,  for  now  the  Prince  is  forced 
to  believe  that  the  Guises  are  his  friends,  or  at 
least  to  treat  them  as  such.  My  father  has 
assigned  the  Prince  de  Conde  to  the  command 
of  this  gate,  but  you  are  to  watch  him  very 
closely  and  at  the  first  sign  of  treachery  on 
his  part  you  are  to  lock  him  in  the  dungeon." 

The  boy  turned  and  ran  into  the  castle,  and 
I  walked  back  to  the  chapel ;  nor  did  I  dare  ap- 
proach the  Prince  for  fear  that,  not  suspecting 
how  closely  he  was  watched,  he  might  betray 
himself  by  some  incautious  word  to  me.  Then 
followed  the  terrible  days,  of  which  I  cannot 
write  but  whose  memory  will  never  leave  me. 
The  Huguenots,  who  surrendered  generally 
when  the  death  of  La  Renaudie  was  known, 
were  for  many  days  executed  in  detachments 
of  hundreds  on  that  terrible  bridge  and  their 
bodies  thrown  into  the  river.  The  heads  of 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     263 

the  leaders  were  fastened  on  poles  in  public 
places. 

Day  after  day  the  Court  sat  upon  the  long 
balcony  assisting  at  the  frightful  spectacle,  and 
only  one  of  the  noble  ladies  dared  show  the 
least  concern.  The  Duchess  of  Guise  plead 
with  the  Queen,  saying,  "  Ah  !  Madame,  what 
a  whirlwind  of  revenge  will  rise  for  our  poor 
children  ! " 

But,  though  none  dared  protest,  the  hearts  of 
the  populace  were  thrilled  with  indignation, 
and  more  Protestants  were  created  by  that 
cruel  revenge  of  the  Guises  than  by  the 
preaching  of  many  ministers.  The  Prince  de 
Conde  obtained  permission  to  retire  to  Beam. 
Everyone  was  in  haste  to  leave  the  cursed  city. 
Least  of  all  had  I  any  desire  to  remain,  but  I 
could  not  go  until  I  was  assured  of  the  safety 
nof  Catherine's  lover.  I  sought  for  his  name  in 
the  lists  of  the  condemned,  I  watched  the  sick- 
ening executions,  and  at  last  I  found  him  in 
prison.  The  wardens  had  grown  careless, 
and  with  a  little  guile  and  some  money  well 
bestowed  they  were  still  more  blind.  Then 
Antoine  de  Croy,  in  my  sculptor's  blouse, 
walked  out  of  Amboise,  presenting  at  its  gates 
my  passport,  signed  by  the  Cardinal  of 
Lorraine.  I  lingered  until  I  received  an  order 


264  Renaissance  Chateaux 

from  Catherine  de'  Medici  to  go  to  Orleans  to 
labour  upon  the  palace  of  that  city.  I  saw 
not  Louis  of  Conde  again  until  the  following 
year.  There  was  to  be  a  meeting  of  the  States- 
General  at  Orleans.  It  is  all  written  down 
in  history,  how,  relying  on  their  sovereign's 
word,  the  King  of  Navarre  and  the  Prince 
de  Conde  came  and  were  trapped,  —  how  the 
mock  trial  was  hurried  through  and  the  Prince 
condemned  to  be  executed  on  the  roth  of  De- 
cember. But  on  the  I7th  of  November  the 
King  fell  fainting  from  his  horse,  stricken  with 
excruciating  pain  in  his  ear. 

The  best  surgeon  of  our  day,  Ambroise 
Pare,  was  summoned  by  the  Duke  of  Guise 
and  waited  on  the  King  daily.  It  was  he  who 
had  removed  the  spearhead  and  bit  of  broken 
shaft  which  had  given  Duke  Francis  of  Guise 
the  name  of  Le  Balafre.  He  recognised  me 
as  he  saw  me  at  work  on  the  fa£ade  of  the 
palace  and  spoke  freely  with  me  as  he  came 
and  went.  Tremendous  issues  hung  on  that 
young  man's  life.  All  the  power  of  the  Guises 
was  exercised  through  the  King.  With  his 
death  the  crown  would  descend  to  his  brother 
Charles,  who  was  still  a  minor,  and  a  regent 
would  be  appointed  who  might  not  be  friendly 
to  them.  The  Prince  de  Conde  in  his  dun- 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     265 

geon  had  been  told  by  his  gaoler  that  his  own 
life  and  that  of  the  King  hung  in  the  opposite 
scales  of  the  balance  of  fate. 

Ambroise  Pare  mounted  the  steps  one 
morning,  his  face  lighted  with  enthusiasm. 
"  I  have  brought  my  instruments,"  he  said  to 
me,  "  and  when  I  come  back  the  King  will  be 
out  of  danger.  I  located  the  tumour  yester- 
day. Last  night  I  performed  the  operation  of 
trepanning  on  a  lifeless  subject  in  order  to  be 
perfectly  sure  of  ground.  I  cannot  fail." 

He  came  from  the  palace  later  in  the  morn- 
ing, deeply  despondent. 

"  The  Queen  Mother  would  not  allow  me 
to  perform  the  operation,"  he  said  to  me,  bit- 
terly. That  was  the  4th  of  December.  The 
next  morning  the  King  died. 

As  I  was  walking  along  the  principal  street 
of  Orleans,  I  saw  a  commotion  at  the  gate  and 
heard  a  loud  voice  in  violent  altercation. 
"  Surely,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  there  is  only  one 
man  in  France  who  can  swear  like  that." 
And  I  was  right,  for  the  unwilling  warden, 
affrighted  by  the  tremendous  oaths  of  Anne 
de  Montmorency,  lifted  the  portcullis,  and  the 
grim  old  warrior,  followed  by  a  thousand  men- 
at-arms,  all  the  stout  militia  of  Ecouen  and 
Chantilly,  rode  noisily  in.  "  Where  is  my 


266  Renaissance  Chateaux 

niece  ?  "  he  asked  me,  and  I  had  the  honour  of 
showing  him  the  way  to  the  lodging  of  the 
Princesse  de  Conde. 

Catherine  de'  Medici  had  herself  notified 
him  of  the  critical  state  in  which  her  son  lay, 
and  had  begged  him  to  come  and  give  her  the 
assistance  of  his  counsel. 

The  Princess,  sobbing  for  joy,  flung  herself 
in  her  uncle's  arms  and  I  left  them  together, 

o 

but  I  could  hear  him,  as  I  went  my  way,  inter- 
larding his  pious  prayers  for  the  welfare  of  the 
King's  soul  with  curses  on  the  Guises,  and 
with  tenderest  endearments  and  words  of  hope 
for  his  niece. 

I  hurried  to  the  prison  of  the  Prince  de 
Conde,  but  he  had  already  been  made  aware 
of  the  death  of  Francis  II.  He  had  been 
playing  cards  with  his  gaoler  when  his  valet 
entered.  The  Prince  dropped  several  cards 
and  his  man  picked  them  up  and  handed  them 
to  him.  Conde  glanced  over  them,  ex- 
claiming :  "  But  the  king  is  gone." 

"Yes,  Sire,"  replied  the  valet,  "but  the  loss 
is  not  yours.  We  will  get  another  King,  and 
you  may  win  the  game  yet." 

The  Prince  sat  bolt  upright  for  an  instant, 
and  then  continued  his  play. 

A  gentle,  kindly  soul  was   Francis   II.,  and 


The  Swan  Maidens  of  Nevers     267 

yet  one-third  of  his  subjects  thanked  God 
when  his  young  life  went  out.  His  sweet 
girl-widow  hid  her  grief  in  a  convent,  and  later 
retired  to  that  sad  northern  kingdom  of  hers 
with  its  cold  and  its  fogs,  its  tumults  and  its 
shadow  of  death. 

With  the  opening  reign  of  Charles  IX.  came 
joy  and  hope  for  all  Protestants,  for  the  young 
King  bestowed  the  administration  of  the  king- 
dom upon  the  Queen  Mother,  with  the  advice 
of  the  King  of  Navarre  and  the  notables, 
chief  in  power  among  whom  were  the  Ad- 
miral de  Coligny,  the  Prince  de  Conde,  now 
set  at  liberty,  the  Constable  de  Montmorency, 
the  Marshal  St.  Andre,  and  the  wise  De 
1'Hopital.  The  Guises  still  held  their  heads 
high,  but  their  reign  was  over,  and  they  were 
obliged  to  fawn  and  truckle  to  the  Constable, 
j^nd  to  apologise  to  the  Prince  de  Conde. 
Huguenots  came  from  hiding  and  boldly 
avowed  their  principles,  and  were  cleared  of 
the  charges  preferred  against  them.  The 
wedding  of  Catherine  de  Cleves  and  Antoine 
de  Croy  was  celebrated  with  proper  mag- 
nificence, the  royal  family  honouring  it  with 
their  attendance ;  Kinir  Charles  created  the 

O 

bridegroom  Prince  de  Portien.  The  Due  de 
Nevers  gave  Catherine  as  her  marriage  portion 


268  Renaissance  Chateaux 

the  chateau  d'Eu,  near  Treport  in  Normandy. 
The  young  couple  retired  to  their  estates, 
carrying  with  them  the  love  and  blessings  of 
all  their  friends.  None  wished  them  joy  more 
fervently  than  the  sculptor  Jean  Goujon. 

The  kindly  impulse  of  Francis  II.  to  ennoble 
me  was  not  carried  into  execution  by  Charles 
IX.;  but  he  did  far  better  by  me.  He  set  me 
to  work  upon  his  palace  of  the  Louvre,  and 
after  the  sharp  surgery  of  disappointment 
labour  laid  its  balm  upon  my  tortured  mind. 
But  when  the  men  whose  praise  I  most 
value  ask  me,  "  How  is  it,  Jean  Goujon, 
that  you,  a  loveless  bachelor,  have  in  your 
Fountain  of  the  Nymphs  and  other  sculp- 
tures satisfied  our  ideals  of  what  is  exquisite 
in  woman  ?  Is  your  model  some  earthly 
beauty  or  a  divine  inspiration?"  I  have  re- 
plied that  I  have  but  striven  to  realise  a  fleet- 
ing dream,  and  have  thanked  God  inwardly 
for  the  glamour  of  that  vision,  which  still 
sweetens  all  my  life. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  STRANGE   STORY  OF  SYLVIE  DE  LA 
MIRANDOLE 

I 

HOW  SHE  DESIGNED  A  CLOAK  TO  CLOAK  HER  DESIGNS 

The  cherry-coloured  velvet  of  your  cloak 
Time  hath  not  soiled  ;  its  fair  embroideries 

Shine  as  when  centuries  ago  they  spoke, 
To  what  bright  gallant  of  Her  Daintiness, 

Whose  slender  fingers,  long  since  dust  and  dead, 
For  love  or  fantasy  embroidered 

The  cherry-coloured  velvet  of  this  cloak  ? 

KRNEST  DOWSON. 

ft 

1  NEVER  trusted  the  Duke  of  Anjou,  for 
all  his  courtesies.  Slender,  supple,  soft- 
footed,  he  was  always  appearing  when  least 
expected  or  desired.  His  voice  had  no  in- 
tonations, yet  gave  the  impression  that  every 
phrase  he  uttered  was  false.  His  face  was 
without  expression  save  in  its  negations,  for 
the  slightly  sneering  nose  and  lips  were  in- 
solent in  their  indifference  where  others  were 

260 


270  Renaissance  Chateaux 

passionate  with  indignation.  His  eyes  were 
dull,  heavy-lidded  with  ennui,  and  yet  they 
could  hold  more  of  sullen  malignity  than  a 
cup  of  poison.  Those  to  whom  he  owed 
gratitude  said  he  had  a  memory  surprising 
short,  but  he  was  never  known  to  forget  an  in- 
jury. His  heart,  his  conscience — nay,  he  had 
neither ;  and  though  his  arm  made  too  free 
of  your  waist,  there  was  not  a  maid  of  honour 
in  the  flying  squadron  who  would  not  have 
preferred  to  be  girdled  by  a  serpent. 

Yet  that  spring  and  summer  of  1570  in 
Angers,  he  made  a  great  show  of  affection 
for  his  sister,  Marguerite,  and  for  our  young 
Duke,  Henri  of  Guise.  Though  the  Duke 
was  but  twenty,  he  had  an  old  head  on  his 
shoulders.  He  knew  that  Anjou  bore  him 
no  good  will,  that  if  he  caressed  him  it  was 
for  some  purpose,  and  he  held  himself  on  his 
guard.  The  Princess  was  not  so  shrewd. 
She  was  barely  seventeen,  an  ardent,  im- 
pressionable girl,  and  with  that  first  wild, 
sweet  passion  which  is  at  once  so  irresist- 
ible and  so  reckless,  she  loved  the  Duke  of 
Guise.  She  was  fond  of  her  brother,  too, 
and  had  not  yet  had  her  eyes  opened  to  his 
villainy.  He  had  flattered  her  by  feigning 
admiration  of  her  intelligence  and  by  pre- 


SYUVIE  (OR   FULVIE>  DE   LA  MIRANDOLE,  WIFE  OF  CHARLES  DE  LA 
ROCHEFOUCAULD,  COUNT  OF  RANDAN. 

REPRODUCED    FROM    A    CARBON    PRINT. 

(By  permission  of  Braun,  Clement  &  Co.) 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole    271 

tending  to  make  her  his  confidante.  It  was 
natural  that  she  should  cling  to  anyone  who 
showed  her  affection,  for  her  mother  and  her 
oldest  brother,  King  Charles,  were  so  ab- 
sorbed in  the  cares  of  government  that  they 
gave  her  little  love,  and  less  show  of  it.  They 
were  proud  of  her  beauty,  of  her  elegant 
manner,  her  taste  in  dress,  her  mental  ac- 
complishments, and  above  all  of  her  tact 
and  wit  in  conversation  ;  but  Catherine  de' 
Medici  was  not  a  woman  to  spoil  her  child- 
ren with  praise,  and  Marguerite  craved  ap- 
peciation  with  an  insatiable  hunger.  She 
clung  to  her  brother,  Anjou,  as  the  only  one 
in  her  family  who  understood  and  loved  her; 
and  he  cajoled  and  deceived  her  because  he 
saw  that  he  could  make  her  the  unconscious 
instrument  of  his  determination  to  work  the 
ruin  of  the  Duke  of  Guise.  I  saw  through 
his  evil  intent  very  early  in  the  game,  and 
for  a  time  foiled  it  neatly,  for  I  was  the  first 
who  put  the  Princess  on  her  guard,  and 
helped  the  Duke  of  Guise  to  serve  him- 
self through  Anjou's  very  perfidy. 

And  now  a  word  as  to  my  own  antecedents, 
for  it  is  necessary,  to  understand  my  view  of 
the  life  around  me,  that  you  should  know 
through  what  lenses  I  looked  upon  it.  I  am 


272  Renaissance  Chateaux 

an  Italian,  and  of  the  same  stock  and  belief  as 
the  great  scholar,  Pico  della  Mirandola.  They 
called  him  a  mystic,  a  pagan,  and  misunder- 
stood the  pantheism  in  which  he  believed. 
Living  he  had  striven  to  reconcile  the  Greek 
mythology  with  the  Christian  religion.  Hold- 
ing that  the  devotional  impulse,  whatever  its 
manifestation,  is  God-given,  and  will  meet  with 
an  answer  from  God,  he  had  maintained  that 
when  the  old  Greeks  prayed  to  their  divinities 
deity  manifested  itself  to  them  in  their  gods  as 
truly  as  to  us  in  Christ.  He  had  been  re- 
proved for  this  opinion  by  the  Pope,  but  at  his 
death  the  Virgin  came  and  kissed  him,  and 
with  her  there  came  also  the  pagan  gods  whose 
worship  he  had  defended.  This  I  firmly  be- 
lieve, and  I  shall,  later  on,  have  an  experience 
of  my  own  to  tell  you  which  most  people  call 
"  strange,"  but  which  to  me  seems  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world.  I  was  never  a 
visionary  maid  like  the  unhealthy  nuns  in 
damp  cloisters.  My  veins  were  full  of  hot 
blood,  and  I  lived  in  a  stirring  time  when  feel- 
ing was  intense  and  there  was  so  much  action 
that  there  was  no  time  for  brooding,  and  al- 
ready I  had  seen  sharp  vicissitudes  of  fortune. 
My  father  had  come  to  France  with  the  fol- 
lowing of  Catherine  de'  Medici,  and,  as  his 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole    273 

scholarship  was  more  serviceable  in  the  dimin- 
ished state  of  his  fortune  than  his  nobility,  he 
became  the  secretary  of  Duke  Charles  of  Lor- 
raine. This  noble  had  married  the  Princess 
Claude.  He  lived  quietly  on  his  estates  on 
good  terms  with  his  cousins  of  Guise  ;  and  it 
was  at  Joinville  that  I  first  met  the  young 
Duke  Henri.  I  was  his  partisan  at  once,  for 
he  had  the  most  winsome  manners  of  any  man 
in  France.  He  saw  that  I  was  a  lonely  Italian 
girl,  and  he  spoke  to  me  in  my  loved  language, 
telling  me  that  he  too  was  Italian  on  his 
mother's  side,  for  she  was  the  daughter  of 
Duke  Hercules  d'Este  of  Ferrara,  who  had 
been  my  grandfather's  friend.  I  remember, 
too,  that  he  told  me  that  I  minded  him  of  a 
portrait  of  his  ancestress,  Lucrezia  Borgia 
(whom  he  also  was  said  to  resemble),  for  we 
had  both  the  tawny,  leonine  hair  of  the  south- 
ern blondes — not  the  flaxen  hair  of  the  north, 
which  matches  the  pale  aureoles  around  the 
heads  of  sickly  saints,  and  goes  with  flax  blos- 
som eyes  and  skim-milk  complexions,  but  true 
golden  hair,  with  the  warmth  of  the  nectarine 
in  our  cheeks,  and  topaz  eyes  holding  the 
lion's  fire  in  their  lambent  depths. 

All    the  time  that  he  was    speaking   I   was 
marking   how    beautiful    these    characteristics 

18 


274  Renaissance  Chateaux 

were  in  him ,  my  heart  swelled  with  pride  at 
the  thought  that  I  shared  them  in  any  degree, 
and  I  was  so  grateful  for  his  kindly  notice  of 
my  insignificance  that  I  was  quite  ready  to 
serve  him  when  occasion  offered. 

The  Princess  Claude  in  one  of  her  rare 
visits  to  Court  took  me  with  her,  and  her  sister, 
Marguerite,  chancing  to  be  pleased  by  my 
skill  in  embroidery,  begged  me  to  remain  to 
ornament  her  robes  with  my  handiwork.  Thus 
it  happened  that  Marguerite  de  Valois  had 
among  her  ladies-in-waiting  a  maid  of  honour 
supposed  to  be  one  of  the  protegees  of  Cath- 
erine de'  Medici  and  in  no  way  identified 
with  the  Guise  faction.  Least  of  all  did  the 
Duke  of  Anjou  suspect  that  I  was  devoted  to 
the  service  of  his  enemy,  that  the  silent  girl 
bending  so  diligently  over  the  embroidery 
frame  by  the  window  was  listening,  reflect- 
ing, turning  things  over  in  her  mind,  matching 
shade  to  shade  in  significance  and  untwisting 
other  tangles  than  those  in  her  silks. 

<I> 

We  were  at  the  close  of  the  third  civil  war. 
Just  ten  years  had  gone  by  since  the  death  of 
Francis  II.  had  placed  Charles  IX.  on  the 
throne  and  had  given  the  Huguenots  hope. 
But  war  had  broken  out  again  and  again.  The 
old  leaders  on  both  sides  had  been  killed,  and 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole    275 

the  young  men  who  had  now  taken  the  field  to 
avenge  the  death  of  their  fathers  continued  the 
struggle  with  great  bitterness.  As  soon  as  the 
Queen  Mother  heard  of  the  victory  of  Jarnac 
and  the  death  of  Prince  Louis  de  Conde  she 
made  no  doubt  of  the  result  and  hurried  to 
Tours  to  congratulate  Anjou  and  to  watch  the 
ending  of  the  campaign.  It  was  not  enough 
to  remain  close  at  hand  in  the  old  chateau  of 
Plessis-les-Tours,  she  must  follow  the  move- 
ments of  the  army  and  be  actually  upon  the 
field  ;  and  so  we  rushed  about  from  post  to 
post,  faring  as  best  we  could,  sleeping  now  in 
tents  and  again  in  damp  old  fortresses,  sharing 
the  dangers  and  privations  of  the  camp.  For 
a  time  the  Princess  Marguerite  enjoyed  this 
adventurous  life.  She  rode  daringly  and 
looked  well  en  Amazone.  The  air  rung  with 
the  exploits  of  the  Duke  of  Guise.  We  feared 
only  Coligny  at  this  time,  and  when  Henri  of 
Guise  forced  the  Admiral  to  raise  the  siege  of 
Poitiers  and  then  assisted  in  routing  him  at 
Moncontour  all  France  recognized  the  young 
duke  as  the  worthy  successor  of  his  father, 
and  the  Duke  of  Anjou  counted  as  nothing. 
When  they  rode  side  by  side  through  the 
streets  the  populace  shouted  "  Guise  !  Guise  !" 
while  not  a  voice  was  heard  to  applaud 


276  Renaissance  Chateaux 

Anjou.  It  was  just  the  same  with  the  sol- 
diers and  with  the  ladies  of  the  Court.  If 
Henri  of  Guise  had  been  wise  he  would  have 
disclaimed  somewhat  of  this  homage,  but  he 
was  mad  for  distinction,  intoxicated  by  his 
success,  and  he  cared  not  a  whit  that  Anjou 
sulked  and  looked  at  him  askance.  Margue- 
rite, too,  was  reckless  in  her  infatuation.  She 
wore  the  double  cross  of  Lorraine  on  her 
breast,  and  coquetted  openly  with  the  Duke 
until  her  mother  upbraided  her  sharply,  and 
Anjou  kept  him  busy  at  a  distance  from  the 
Court. 

The  war  dragged  on  through  the  remainder 
of  the  winter,  but  in  the  spring  of  1570  both 
sides  were  thoroughly  tired  out.  Coligny  was 
wounded,  and  Anjou  sick  of  plucking  laurels 
for  the  Duke  of  Guise  to  wear.  There  was 
fever,  too,  in  both  camps,  and  suddenly  the 
Princess  Marguerite  was  stricken  with  it.  The 
surgeon  said  she  must  leave  that  malarious 
district,  that  Angers  was  the  nearest  city 
where  she  could  obtain  proper  care  and  salu- 
brious air.  The  Queen  Mother  could  not  go 
with  her,  for  now  that  proposals  of  peace  were 
being  framed  she  was  more  than  ever  needed 
by  the  young  King  Charles.  So  the  Princess 
was  placed  under  the  charge  of  Madame  Cur- 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole    277 

ton,  and  as  she  begged  for  me  I,  too,  was  per- 
mitted to  accompany  her.  and  escorted  by  a 
band  of  soldiers  she  was  borne  in  a  litter  to 
Angers. 

We  had  not  progressed  many  miles  from 
camp  when  the  Duke  of  Guise  overtook  us. 
He  had  ridden  hard  and  his  magnificent  horse 
was  flecked  with  foam.  When  I  drew  aside 
the  litter  curtains  and  Marguerite  saw  him  she 
cried  out  with  delight,  but  as  he  kissed  her  hand 
she  reproached  him  for  his  rashness,  and  in- 
sisted that  he  must  return  to  the  army. 
Madame  Curton,  too,  who  was  the  soul  of  pro- 
priety, was  astonished  beyond  measure  at  his 
presumption  until  the  Duke  handed  her  a 
letter  from  Anjou  announcing  that  he  had 
given  Guise  a  leave  of  absence  to  visit  his 
family  at  the  chateau  of  Bourgueil,  and  as 
this  was  near  Angers  he  had  requested  him  to 
escort  his  sister  to  her  destination.  We  could 
hardly  believe  our  eyes,  but  the  handwriting 
was  unmistakable,  and  as  Madame  said  there 
was  no  reason  why  he  should  not  remain,  for 
the  poor  Princess  was  too  ill  for  coquetry. 
After  that  first  recognition  she  became  uncon- 
scious, nor  did  she  lift  her  head  from  her  pillow 
until  we  reached  Angers.  As  for  the  Duke, 
he  won  Madame  Curton's  good  opinion  by  his 


278  Renaissance  Chateaux 

fine  reserve  during  the  journey,  and,  having 
accomplished  his  mission,  he  bade  us  farewell  at 
the  charming  little  chateau  called  the  Hotel 
Pince,  which  the  Mayor  of  Angers  had  placed 
at  our  service.  Henry  of  Guise  had  been  obse- 
quious, but  so  distant  that  Madame  was  com- 
pletely deceived  and  neglected  to  mention  his 
appearance  when  she  made  her  reports  to  the 
Queen  Mother.  We  saw  nothing  more  of 
him  until  the  coming  of  the  Duke  of  Anjou. 
A  truce  had  been  arranged  preparatory  to  the 
peace  of  St.  Germain,  the  war  was  virtually 
over,  and  he  had  the  permission  of  King 
Charles,  his  brother,  to  repose  during  the  re- 
mainder of  the  summer  in  his  dukedom  of 
Anjou,  of  which  Angers  was  the  capital. 

The  Queen  Mother  had  sent  word  by  him 
that  Marguerite  was  to  join  her  as  soon  as  she 
was  able  to  travel.  She  was  perfectly  able  to 
do  so  now,  but  Anjou  thought  differently,  and 
wrote  his  mother  most  discouraging  reports  of 
his  sister's  health.  I  could  see  that  he  was  not 
pleased  by  the  account  which  Madame  Curton 
gave  of  her  perfect  decorum,  and  by  the  neglect 
of  the  Duke  of  Guise  to  visit  us  when  he  was 
so  near  as  Bourgueil.  Anjou  told  us  that  he 
loved  Guise,  that  he  desired  and  hoped  to  have 
him  for  a  brother-in-law,  and  that  he  was  al- 


HOTEL  PINCE,  ANGERS. 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole    279 

ready  certain  of  the  Queen  Mother,  though 
she  wished  the  matter  kept  quiet  until  an  aus- 
picious moment  occurred  for  announcing  it  to 
the  King. 

The  Cardinal  of  Lorraine  rode  in  from  Bour- 
gueil  and  was  enraptured  by  Anjou's  protesta- 
tions. The  Cardinal  promised  to  settle  his 
Venetian  funds  upon  his  nephew  on  the  day 
of  the  marriage,  and  at  once  entered  into  ne- 
gotiation for  the  purchase  of  a  little  palace  in 
Paris.  But  Guise  himself  was  wary,  and  pro- 
tested to  Anjou  that  he  had  never  dared 
look  so  high,  and  finally,  even  Marguerite 
began  to  suspect  that  a  trap  was  laid  for 
them.  The  mischief  was  already  done,  if 
Anjou  had  but  known  it,  for  on  the  first 
day  after  the  Duke  of  Guise  joined  us  on  our 
journey  to  Angers  an  event  occurred  which  our 
punctilious  duenna  little  suspected.  We  were 
halting  in  a  shady  grove  for  a  noon-day  siesta. 
Madame  Curton  was  snoring  serenely  under 
an  extemporised  tent,  but  the  litter  of  the 
Princess  had  been  left  outside,  with  the  cur- 
tains looped  back  to  give  the  poor  girl  the 
benefit  of  the  liofht  breeze,  for  she  was  burning 

o  r> 

with  fever.  The  guards  were  cooking  their 
dinner  at  a  little  distance,  and  I  alone  was  on 
duty  when  the  Duke  strolled  up  and  greeted 


280  Renaissance  Chateaux 

me.  Marguerite  heard  his  voice,  and  in  her 
delirium  she  repeated  his  name  again  and  again, 
coupling  it  with  every  endearing  epithet  that 
love  could  suggest.  He  started,  and  turned 
white  and  red.  With  all  her  fascination  he  had 
never  responded  to  her  little  artifices,  or  showed 
by  word  or  look  that  he  cared  for  her  before 
that  moment.  It  may  be  that  there  had  been 
more  than  humble  recognition  of  the  difference 
in  their  rank,  more  even  than  distrust  of  her 
brother  in  the  caution  which  had  repressed  his 
ambition  and  prompted  his  show  of  indiffer- 
ence, and  that  Marguerite's  beauty,  irresistible 
to  everyone  else,  was  not  so  to  him,  for  there 
were  rumours  even  then  that  he  was  paying  his 
court  to  the  lovely  Catherine  of  Cleves,  the 
widow  of  Antoine  de  Croy,  Prince  de  Porcien. 
If  so,  a  great  and  tender  pity  lifted  him  for 
once  beyond  himself  on  the  tide  of  the  purest 
emotion  which  ever  touched  his  soul.  Motion- 
ing to  me  to  watch,  he  knelt  beside  her  litter, 
laying  his  cheek  against  hers,  and  called  her 
his  princess,  his  goddess,  his  only  love,  and 
his  dear  life. 

The  fever  fire  went  out  of  her  eyes  and  the 
smile  of  a  little  child  flickered  about  her  parched 
lips,  while  happy  tears  stole  from  under  her 
long  lashes. 


o     £ 


m 

i  -> 


. 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole    281 

"  You  have  saved  her  life  my  lord,"  I  said. 
"  She  could  not  live  without  love.  She  was 
dying  of  starvation." 

That  was  the  beginning  of  it  all.  Marguerite 
mended  day  by  day.  She  raved  no  more,  but 
lay  contentedly  smiling,  and  he  smiled  back  to 
her.  When  Madame  Curton  was  beyond  specu- 
lation he  rode  close  beside  her,  and  I  think 
that  in  no  time  of  her  most  radiant  health  was 
she  so  happy  as  during  that  convalescence. 
But  he  impressed  her  with  the  necessity  for 
caution.  He  told  her  that  he  well  knew  how 
her  brother  and  her  mother  hated  him.  "  I  fear 
them  not,"  he  said,  "  and  I  intend  to  make  them 
fear  me  so  thoroughly  that  they  will  not  dare 
refuse  you  to  me,  sweetheart,  only  we  must 
have  long  patience." 

So,  too,  at  Angers,  when  Madame  Curton 
thought  they  held  no  communication,  they  met 
time  and  time  again  through  my  connivance, 
until  the  coming  of  Anjou,  when  we  used  more 
of  circumspection  the  more  he  urged  to  indis- 
cretion. Charles,  younger  brother  of  the  Duke 
de  la  Rochefoucauld,  had  been  the  confidant 
and  messenger  of  the  Duke  of  Guise.  His 
family  were  Huguenots,  and  his  older  brother, 
Francois,  a  prominent  leader  of  that  faction. 
Often  we  had  heard  them  singing  : 


282  Renaissance  Chateaux 

"  Le  Prince  de  Conde 
II  a  e'te  tue  ; 
Mais  Monsieur  1'Amiral 
Est  encore  a  cheval, 
Avec  La  Rochefoucauld, 
Pour  achever  tous  ces  Papaux. 

Han,  ban,  Papegots 
Faictes  place  aux  Huguenots  !  " 

But  Charles  de  la  Rochefoucauld  was  a 
Catholic  and  a  member  of  the  League,  for  in 
those  times  religion  divided  households  so 
that  brother  betrayed  brother  to  death. 

It  was  a  scheme  of  Marguerite's  that  this 
friend  of  the  Duke's, — to  cover  his  frequent 
comings  and  goings  in  her  lover's  employ  should 
feign  to  a  passion  for  me,  and  this  was  for  a 
time  a  most  diverting  game  for  us  both,  for 
contrary  to  the  tactics  of  true  lovers,  we  were 
most  profuse  of  caresses  when  we  had  reason 
to  suspect  that  we  were  spied  upon.  But 
when  Anjou  saw  Charles  lurking  near  the 
house  and  spoke  to  Madame  Curton  of  him 
we  knew  that  we  must  think  of  some  new 
postman. 

I  have  spoken  of  my  skill  in  embroidery. 
Marguerite  also  had  a  pretty  talent  in  her  fin- 
gers' ends  and  we  beguiled  the  time  over  our 
frames  together.  She  had  worked  a  cape  for 
the  Duke  of  Guise,  grey  velvet  embroidered 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole    283 

with  silver  flowers,  for  these  were  his  colours. 
I  had  a  mantle  of  the  same  sort  which  I  wore 
commonly.  It  was  of  cherry  velvet  embroid- 
ered with  a  narrow  border  in  golden  thread, 
and  it  suddenly  occurred  to  me  that  we  might 
line  each  cloak  with  the  reverse  of  the  other 
and  so  have  a  famous  lover's  post-office.  Let 
me  make  my  meaning  plainer.  The  Duke's 
cape  was  grey,  lined  with  cherry  ;  mine  cherry 
lined  with  grey.  The  lining  was  cunningly 
attached  beneath  the  heavy  cordon  in  one 
place  with  tiny  hooks,  leaving  a  pocket  for  let- 
ters, which  was  utilised  in  the  following  way. 
My  own  cherry  mantle  lay  innocently  folded 
over  a  chair  and  when  the  Duke  of  Guise 
entered  with  Anjou  he  would  carelessly  throw 
his  own  cape  beside  it.  No  one  went  near 
the  chair  during  the  call,  nor  did  the  Duke 
suffer  Anjou  to  leave  before  him,  but  when  he 
took  his  leave  he  was  careful  to  throw  my 
cloak  (with  its  grey  lining  outside)  over  his 
arm  and  thus  two  letters  were  exchanged, 
Anjou  suspecting  nothing. 

I  was  seated  one  day  in  the  turret  at  my  em- 
broidery while  Anjou  looked  over  his  sister's 
laces  and  showed  her  a  new  way  of  plaiting  a 
ruff — for  he  had  a  milliner's  skill  with  such  girl- 
ish fripperies — when  he  chanced  to  look  up  and 


284  Renaissance  Chateaux 

to  surprise  my  gaze  fixed  upon  him.  It  was 
the  first  time  that  he  had  honoured  me  with 
his  attention,  and  he  asked  the  Princess, 
"  Who  is  the  little  cat  with  the  yellow  eyes  ?" 

My  father  had  named  me  Fulvia  for  some 
old  Roman  empress.  The  French  had  soft- 
tened  the  name  to  Fulvie,  and  again,  because 
it  seemed  to  them  strange  and  outlandish,  to 
Sylvie  ;  but  the  Duke  of  Guise,  knowing  how 
I  had  been  christened,  called  me  Fulvie,  saying 
the  word  meant  lioness  and  suited  me  well.  I 
had  taken  this  in  good  part,  but  it  is  another 
thing  to  be  called  a  cat,  and  I  showed  my  claws. 

"  A  cat  has  green  eyes,  Monsieur,"  I  said 
spitefully,  "  with  narrow  slits  of  pupils  like 
those  of  your  Highness  ;  very  useful  for  excur- 
sions in  the  night  after  any  little  white  mouse." 

The  Duke  laughed,  for  I  had  almost  made  a 
pun.  Mon  souris  ("  my  mouse  ")  suggested 
Montsoreau,  and  Anjou's  infatuation  for  the 
Countess  of  that  name  was  well  known.  He 
liked  the  reputation  of  a  lady  killer,  and  instead 
of  displeasing  I  had  flattered  him. 

"  How  is  your  suit  progressing  with  that 
little  lady?"  Marguerite  asked. 

"  Very  vilely,  I  must  confess,"  replied  Anjou. 
"  Her  husband  is  disobligingly  suspicious  and 
peppery,  and  allows  me  no  opportunity  to 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole    285 

see  her.  However,  I  have  a  scheme  which  I 
think  will  dispose  of  that  unnecessary  indi- 
vidual." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  his  sister,  but  he  only 
tapped  softly  on  the  window  pane  and  sang  a 
favourite  air  of  the  Duke  de  Guise. 

Marguerite  recognised  it  at  once  and  her 
thoughts  flew  to  her  lover.  "  Did  the  Duke 
of  Guise  really  perform  such  prodigies  of 
valour  in  the  last  campaign  ? "  she  asked. 

"  He  performed  prodigies  of  impudence," 
Anjou  replied,  scowling  sullenly. 

"  And  yet  you  are  fond  of  him?" 

"  We  need  him,  Marguerite,  to  hold  the 
Huguenot  party  in  check.  That  is  the  secret 
of  diplomacy,  my  dear  sister.  Never  have 
any  quarrels  of  your  own.  Let  other  people 
attend  to  them  for  you.  Play  off  one  feud 
against  another.  There  are  always  people 
ready  to  do  dangerous  work  for  you  if  you 
are  adroit  enough  to  sharpen  their  suspicions. 
The  part  for  us  to  play  is  to  be  friendly  all 
around,  and  avail  ourselves  of  every  support. 
The  King  has  just  approved  of  the  marriage  of 
Henri's  sister  with  the  Due  de  Montpensier 
which  allies  them  with  the  Bourbons,  and  he 
will  soon  be  interesting  himself  in  providing  a 
bride  for  the  Duke.  Look  you,  Marguerite, 


286  Renaissance  Chateaux 

there    are    others   who    think  him  a  desirable 
parti  if  you  do  not.     Are  you  aware  that  the 
Princess  of   Porcien  is  visiting    the   dowager 
Duchess  of  Guise  at  Bourgueil  ?  " 

Anjou's  insinuations  were  not  without  their 
effect  upon  his  sister.  Guise  came  that  after- 
noon. He  had  an  appointment  to  meet  Anjou 
at  our  door  and  was  surprised  that  he  was  not 
there  to  enter  with  him.  For  a  few  moments 
the  lovers  were  alone,  save  for  my  presence  in 
the  turret,  and  Marguerite  told  him  all  that 
her  brother  had  said.  "  Ma  mie"  said  Guise, 
"  there  is  some  treachery  here.  I  have  news 
from  my  uncle,  the  Cardinal,  that  Coligny  is 
high  in  favour  with  King  Charles,  also  that 
the  Venetian  Ambassador,  to  whom  he  spoke 
of  transferring  his  bonds  to  my  name,  has 
blabbed  at  Court  the  Cardinal's  project  for 
our  marriage,  and  that  the  King  opposes  it 
violently.  It  may  mean  death  to  me  if  I  per- 
sist in  it,  but  persist  I  shall.  As  for  Catherine 
of  Cleves,  she  is  not  to  be  compared  to  you, 
my  beautiful  one.  You  can  trust  me,  can  you 
not  ?  I  have  eyes  for  no  other  woman.  See, 
my  darling,  I  have  this  day  received  a  love 
letter  from  the  Dame  de  Montsoreau,  whom 
others  call  a  beauty  ;  to  me  she  is  a  simpering 
idiot.  She  invites  me  to  an  evening  supper  at 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole    287 

her  chateau  in  the  absence  of  her  lord,  the 
Grand  Veneur.  See,  the  word  "  absence  "  is 
underlined.  The  appointment  is  for  this  even- 
ing. The  little  lady  will  wait,  for  I  am  here." 

"  Let  me  see  the  note,"  said  Marguerite ; 
and  then  she  cried  sharply,  "  Why  it  is  my 
brother's  handwriting  ! " 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Guise  quietly. 

Marguerite  was  struck  with  dismay  at  what 
this  must  mean,  but  Guise  smiled  as  he  added, 
"  I  happen  to  know  that  Montsoreau  is  not 
away  from  home  as  this  letter  states,  for  I  saw 
him  riding  up  the  road  to  his  chateau  as  I  was 
rowed  down  the  river  from  Bourgueil  in  my 
uncle's  barge." 

While  he  spoke  there  came  a  knocking  at 
the  street  door  which  my  turret  window  com- 
manded. It  was  an  oriel  overhanging  the 
street,  and  often  I  had  reached  out  and  taken 
a  letter  for  the  Princess  from  Charles  de 
la  Rochefoucauld's  sword-point.  But  now 
through  the  open  casement  came  the  loud 
voice  of  Bussy  d'Amboise,  captain  of  Mar- 
guerite's guard,  who  worshipped  the  ground 
she  trod  on  and  despised  the  Duke  of  Anjou. 
He  was  the  best  swordsman  in  France  and 
there  was  not  a  bravo  among  Anjou's  "mignons" 
who  dared  attack  him.  Bussy  dearly  loved  to 


288  Renaissance  Chateaux 

gasconade  and  I  could  hear  him  plainly  as  he 
cried:  "•!  will  send  up  your  name,  my  lord, 
but  I  must  trouble  you  to  wait  until  the 
Princess  returns  word  whether  she  will  receive 
you." 

"  But  the  Duke  of  Guise  was  admitted  a  half- 
hour  since  without  announcement,"  Anjou's 
querulous  voice  objected. 

"  Since  your  Highness  gave  me  orders  never 
to  refuse  him." 

"  Then  why  refuse  me  ?" 

"  Because  neither  the  Princess  nor  the  Duke 
of  Guise  has  returned  the  compliment  by  de- 
siring me  to  admit  you."  Anjou  was  furious 
and  swore  roundly  but  Bussy  did  not  fear  him^ 
having  been  appointed  to  this  post  by  the 
Queen  Mother.  Marguerite  called  to  him  to 

*<*  o 

let  her  brother  enter,  and  Anjou  came  in  much 
out  of  humour.  He  was  not  placated  when 
the  Princess  handed  him  the  note  which  Guise 
had  just  received,  and  asked  him  what  he 
thought  of  it. 

"  That  I  have  a  mind  to  keep  the  appoint- 
ment for  him,"  he  said,  tucking  the  letter  in  his 
comfit  box.  He  is  a  lucky  man  who  can  sup 
with  the  Countess  of  Montsoreau." 

We  were  not  deceived  by  this  pretence  of 
nonchalance,  but  we  were  not  prepared  for  the 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole    289 

villainy  with  which  he  requited  poor  Bussy's 
impertinence.  Bussy  had  seen  the  pretty 
Countess,  and  he  was  so  vain  of  his  own  good 
looks  that  he  suspected  nothing  when  an  hour 
later  he  in  turn  received  the  same  letter  of  in- 
vitation, which  Anjou  had  simply  readdressed 
and  despatched  by  one  of  his  partisans. 

The  next  morning  Bussy  d'Amboise  was  not 
at  our  door.  His  place  was  filled  by  Captain 
Ahrens,  an  officer  in  the  service  of  the  Duke 
of  Anjou.  On  encountering  this  sentinel  I 
started  back  with  a  little  scream,  but  gathering 
confidence,  asked  who  placed  him  there. 

"The  Duke  of  Anjou,"  Ahrens  replied. 

"  And  by  what  right  ?  The  Queen  Mother 
herself  commissioned  Bussy  d'Amboise  to  this 
service." 

"  But  since  Bussy  d'Amboise  is  dead— 

"  Dead  !  "  I  cried.  "  How  and  when  did  he 
die  ?  " 

"  Last  night  at  the  chateau  of  Mon —  I  mean 
at  his  barracks.  The  grcfficr  deposed  this 
morning  that  he  died  a  natural  death  since  he 
could  find  no  wound  upon  him.  And  so  it 
was, — natural  enough  for  a  man  to  die  when  his 
neck  is  broken,  natural  enough  for  it  to  break 
when  he  falls  five  stories,"  and  Ahrens  laughed 
unpleasantly,  whether  at  his  own  humour  or  at 


290  Renaissance  Chateaux 

the  recollection  of  some  diverting  spectacle  I 
could  not  tell.  Seeing  him  in  this  loquacious 
mood  my  curiosity  overcame  my  repugnance 
and  I  coaxed  the  entire  story  from  him.  It 
was  he  who  had  given  Bussy  the  forged  letter. 
It  was  only  an  illustration  of  Anjou's  pet  pro- 
cedure which  he  had  explained  to  Marguerite. 
The  Count  of  Montsoreau  was  an  obstacle  and 
this  was  his  scheme  for  removing  him.  He 
had  filled  the  jealous  husband's  mind  with  sus- 
picions of  his  wife  and  had  proposed  that  he 
should  verify  them  by  keeping  the  innocent 
Countess  under  surveillance.  His  plot  had 
failed  so  far  as  Guise  was  concerned ;  but 
Bussy  had  responded  with  alacrity  and  had 
persuaded  Ahrens  to  accompany  him  as  far  as 
to  the  outer  door  of  the  staircase  tower  and  from 
this  point  Ahrens  had  seen  the  final  catastro- 
phe. The  door  had  been  left  unlocked  ;  the 
shadow  of  the  lady's  profile  on  a  curtain  showed 
her  to  be  in  a  boudoir  communicating  with  the 
upper  story  of  the  tower.  Anjoti  had  trusted 
that  the  intruder  would  kill  the  Count.  If  by 
any  chance  Montsoreau  killed  Bussy  he  would 
be  hung  for  the  crime,  and  so  whatever  the 
event  Anjou  would  be  disembarrassed  of  the  su- 
perfluous husband.  But  in  the  first  encounter 
Bussy's  sword  was  sent  flying  from  his  hand, 


RUINS  OF  THE  CHATEAU  OF   MONTSOREAU. 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole    291 

for  the  Count  attacked  him  with  a  chair  and 
belaboured  him  with  that  ignominious  weapon 
until  he  backed  out  of  the  open  window  of  the 
tower  instead  of  finding  his  way  to  the  stair- 
case. 

Ahrens  dwelt  upon  his  fall  with  fiendish 
glee.  "It  was  beautiful!"  he  cried,  "better 
far  than  feats  of  a  saltimbanque,  for  he  turned 
a  back  somersault  in  the  air  and  then  struck 
the  stone  pavement  of  the  court  with  a  thud. 
He  never  cried  out  or  moaned,  but  when  I 
picked  him  up  and  ran  with  him  I  knew  by 
the  way  his  head  wagged  that  his  neck  was 
broken." 

"  And  does  the  Duke  of  Anjou  know  of 
this?"  I  asked,  horror-stricken. 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  copied  the  entry  in  the  register 
and  carried  it  to  him  this  morning,  and  he  was 

O  ' 

much  put  out."  l 

"  Then  he  is  capable  of  remorse." 
41  Nay,  he  was  angry  that  the  Count  of  Mont- 
soreau  will   have   no   blame  and   has  had  no 
harm  from  the  encounter.      Bussy  got  his  re- 
ward   for   his    insolence,    but    it    would    have 

'The  incident  by  which  Henri  of  Valois  compassed  the  death  of 
Bussy  d'Amhoise  through  the  jealousy  of  the  Comte  de  Montsoreau 
in  reality  took  place  a  few  years  later  (Aug.  IS,  1579).  See  La  }'<•>•- 
ite  Historique  sur  la  Dame  et  Ic  Sire  de  Mentsorcau,  by  J.  de  Chateau 
Chalons. 


292  Renaissance  Chateaux 

pleased  the  Duke  of  Anjou  better,  I  think,  if 
the  Duke  of  Guise  had  been  in  his  place." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?"  I  asked,  wild 
with  anxiety. 

"  I  do  not  tell  my  secrets  for  nothing,"  Ahrens 
replied,  making  eyes  at  me. 

"  And  I  never  pay  my  debts  in  advance,"  I 
said,  striving  not  to  show  the  loathing  I  felt 
for  him. 

"  Well,  then,  I  think  so  because  he  told  me 
to  spit  him  with  my  sword  if  he  made  any  at- 
tempt to  see  the  Princess  Marguerite  before 
noon  to-day." 

"  And  why  before  noon  ?  " 

"  Because  at  twelve  o'  the  clock  you  will  all 
be  gone,  bag  and  baggage,  from  Angers. 
Though  I  should  have  put  that  in  the  plural, 
since  there  will  be  many  bags,  and  I  doubt 
not  but  you  are  as  pretty  a  baggage  as  your 
mistress." 

I  could  have  scratched  his  eyes  out,  but  I 
had  more  to  learn.  "  On  whose  compulsion 
do  we  leave  this  city  ?  " 

"  By  order  of  the  King.  The  Duke  of  An- 
jou has  received  an  express  from  his  brother. 
His  Majesty  has  heard  disquieting  rumours 
regarding  the  behaviour  of  his  sister,  and  in- 
sists that  she  set  out  at  once  for  Paris.  I 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole    293 

have  answered  three  questions,  and  you  owe 
me  three  kisses,  my  pretty  one." 

I  gave  him  three  slaps  instead,  and  ran  into 
the  house  and  told  the  Princess  the  unwelcome 
news.  My  sweet  mistress  turned  very  pale. 
"  Poor  Bussy,"  she  said ;  and  then,  "  O,  Sylvie  ! 
whom  can  we  trust  ?  " 

"You  can  trust  Henri  of  Guise,"  I  asserted, 
"and  Charles  de  la  Rochefoucauld." 

"  I  must  write  him,"  she  exclaimed,  meaning, 
of  course,  Guise  ;  "  I  cannot  go  away  and  leave 
him  without  a  word." 

And  so,  though  I  tried  to  persuade  her  that 
it  was  unnecessary,  for  the  Duke  would  guess 
the  truth,  she  sat  down  to  write  with  such 
reckless  volubility  that  Anjou  came  before  she 
had  done.  We  had  no  fortune  to  send  the 
letter,  but  were  hustled  to  Paris  and  delivered 
to  the  custody  of  the  Queen  Mother  like  pris- 
oners. And  such,  indeed,  we  were. 

II 

THE  RETURN  OF  THE  NYMPHS 

The  Virgin  then,  to  comfort  him  and  stay, 

Kissed  the  thin  cheek  and  kissed  the  lips  a-cold, 

The  lips  unkissed  of  woman  many  a  day. 
Nor  she  alone,  for  queens  of  the  old  creed, 

Like  rival  queens  that  tended  Arthur,  there 


294  Renaissance  Chateaux 

Were  gathered,  Venus  in  her  mourning  weed, 
Pallas  and  Dian  ;  wise  and  pure  and  fair 

Was  he  they  mourned,  who  living  did  not  wrong 
One  altar  of  its  dues  of  wine  and  song. 

ANDREW  LANG  to  Pico  de  la  Mirandola. 

How  I  hate  the  great  dreary  Louvre  !  Its 
grey  mass  rose  before  us  like  a  grim  mountain 
as  we  approached  it  in  the  uncertain  light  of 
the  early  morning.  A  mountain  with  a  fiery 
heart  we  found  it,  a  veritable  volcano,  whose 
streams  of  burning  lava  were  soon  to  burst 

o 

forth  and  shrivel  the  fair  city  at  its  feet.  Even 
now,  in  my  little  chateau  among  the  wild,  free 
mountains,  I  waken  with  a  scream  from  a 
dream  that  I  am  wandering  in  its  lon£,  dim 

O  £>7 

corridors  or  fleeing  from  the  terrible  sights  and 
sounds  which  I  can  never  forget  so  long  as  life 
shall  last. 

The  Queen  Mother  received  us  coldly,  but 
this  was  her  usual  manner,  and  at  first  King 
Charles  gave  no  sign  that  he  suspected  the 
little  romance  of  Angers.  They  were  playing 
with  us,  as  a  cat  with  a  mouse,  allowing  the 
Princess  to  fancy  herself  free,  to  pounce  all  the 
more  surely  at  her  first  movement. 

The  Duke  of  Guise  soon  came  to  the  city. 
We  heard  it  said  that  he  was  at  his  new  hotel 
in  the  Rue  du  Temple,  that  his  mother  was 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole    295 

with  him,  and  that  they  were  furnishing  it  ex- 
travagantly. Marguerite  had  seen  him  at  a 
distance.  She  could  not  restrain  her  impatience 
and  she  entrusted  me  with  a  passionate  letter 
which  I  was  to  deliver  at  my  first  opportunity. 
Catherine  de'  Medici  had  begun  her  great 
scheme  for  the  enlargement  of  the  Louvre  and 
was  deep  in  consultation  with  the  architects 
Pierre  Lescot  and  Jean  Bullant.  The  new 
palace  had  been  planned  for  the  fields  on  the 
west,  where  brick  kilns  (tuileries)  were  now 
preparing  the  tiles  for  roofing.  A  long  new 
wing  was  already  erected  along  the  river,  which 
would  connect  the  old  fortress  portion  of  the 
Louvre  with  the  new  palace,  and  the  sculptor 
Jean  Goujon  was  ornamenting  the  facade  on 
the  Seine  with  his  charming  reliefs.  There 
was  much  talk  of  all  these  constructions,  and 
one  day  Anjou  said  that  it  had  been  told  him 
that  a  potter  patronised  by  the  Queen  Mother, 
one  Bernard  Palissy  by  name,  who  had  his 
furnaces  in  the  tuilerics  where  he  was  manu- 
facturing beautiful  glazed  tiles  for  the  paving 
of  the  new  palace,  had  so  far  forgotten  his  place 
as  to  give  a  course  of  lectures  on  mineralogy 
and  chemistry.  These  lectures  were  attract- 
ing great  notoriety,  for  not  only  did  they  con- 
trovert the  established  science  of  alchemy,  but 


296  Renaissance  Chateaux 

they  were  heretical  in  their  assertions  relating 
to  the  creation  of  the  world.  The  Duke  of 
Anjou  was  of  the  mind  that  so  wicked  and 
dangerous  a  man  should  be  proscribed  from 
poisoning  men's  minds,  especially  as  many 
good  Catholics  attended  the  lectures,  and 
among  others  Charles  de  la  Rochefoucauld, 
who  so  far  had  shown  no  tendency  to  the 
heresy  of  his  older  brother.  As  he  said  this 
he  regarded  me  so  fixedly  that  I  felt  my  face 
burn,  for  though  Charles  and  I  had  only  played 
at  lovers  to  aid  the  Princess  and  Guise,  that  is  a 
dangerous  game  which  begun  in  sport  is  like 
to  end  in  dead  earnest,  and  I  had  so  found  it. 
The  Queen  Mother  took  up  the  cause  of 
this  Palissy,  saying  that  she  cared  not  what 
his  heresies  might  be,  and,  since  there  were 
plenty  of  good  Catholics  in  the  kingdom,  but 
not  another  such  a  potter,  he  should  not  be 
molested  or  angered  by  interference  with  his 
lectures,  as  that  might  induce  him  to  carry 
his  services  to  some  Protestant  sovereign.  I, 
hearing  this,  plucked  up  courage  and  asked 
permission  to  attend  the  lectures,  which  was 
readily  granted.  Scarcely  was  I  seated  in  the 
hall  than  I  was  ware  of  Charles  de  la  Roche- 
foucauld regarding  me  with  a  meaning  glance, 
and  presently  he  left  the  room.  I  followed 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole    297 

quickly,  and  finding  him  waiting  for  me  we 
strolled  along  the  river  bank  together  toward 
the  old  Louvre.  Strange  to  say  we  had  so 
much  to  talk  of  concerning  what  had  happened 
that  we  did  not  exchange  our  letters  till  we 
came  in  front  of  the  palace  and  did  not  dare 
to  do  so  openly  for  fear  of  being  seen  from 
the  windows.  In  this  quandary  I  said  to  de 
la  Rochefoucauld,  "  There  seems  to  be  no  way 
for  you  to  take  the  letter  within  my  cloak  but 
in  pretence  of  embracing  me." 

Which  he  did  very  cleverly,  and,  as  it  seemed 
to  me  then,  nothing  loth,  I  pushing  the  letter 
of  the  Princess  Marguerite  up  his  sleeve  and 
placing  that  of  the  Duke  de  Guise  within  my 
secret  pocket.  All  the  time  Charles  held  my 
chin  with  his  other  hand  in  the  most  natural 
way  possible,  and  repeated,  "  I  love  you 
Sylvie,"  so  rapturously  that  I  was  well-nigh 
deceived. 

Ahrens,  who  had  followed  us  without  our 
knowledge,  was  completely  hoodwinked,  and 
shouting,  "  So,  you  kiss  others  though  you 
will  not  me,"  he  rushed  upon  my  mock  lover. 
Charles  was  nimble-footed,  and  he  disap- 
peared around  the  corner  of  the  Louvre  while 
I  clapped  my  hands  in  derision  and  ran  to  the 
rooms  of  the  Princess  Marguerite.  I  thought 


298  Renaissance  Chateaux 

as  I  entered  her  apartment  that  there  was  no 
one  there,  but  as  I  lifted  the  tapestry  between 
the  anteroom  and  her  bedroom  I  ran  plump 
into  the  arms  of  the  Duke  of  Anjou.  I 
screamed  and  struggled  until  I  saw  the  Queen 
Mother  standing  at  a  little  distance,  when  I 
was  frozen  silent  with  fright. 

"  Give  up  the  letter,"  she  said,  "  and  you 
have  nothing  to  fear." 

"  What  letter  ? "  I  gasped,  but  even  as  I 
did  so  Anjou  removed  my  cloak  in  mock  po- 
liteness, and  turning  the  pocket  wrong  side 
out,  handed  the  billet  to  the  Queen.  It  flashed 
over  me  that  he  had  seen  through  our  little 
stratagem  all  along,  and  had  let  it  continue  in 
order  that  his  sister  and  the  Duke  of  Guise 
should  be  thoroughly  compromised. 

They  went  away,  turning  the  key  in  the 
lock,  which  made  me  think  that  the  Queen  had 
not  done  with  me.  I  had  no  mind  to  wait 
her  coming,  and  I  opened  a  window  and  looked 
out.  What  was  my  joy  to  see  Jean  Goujon 
standing  on  a  swinging  platform  at  a  little 
distance  cheerily  giving  some  fresh  touches  to 
the  sculptured  frieze.  I  told  him  my  predica- 
ment, and  he  bade  me  have  patience  until 
after  sunset,  when,  under  cover  of  the  dusk,  he 
moved  his  mechanism  to  mv  window  and  so 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole    299 

let  me  safely  down  and  took  me  to  the  house 
of  Henri  of  Guise.  Arrived  safely,  I  told  the 
Duke  what  had  happened  and  how  I  dared 
not  return.  He  bade  me  remain  with  his 
mother,  but  he  looked  very  grave,  for  Charles 
de  la  Rochefoucauld  had  not  returned  to  him 
and  he  feared  that  he  had  been  overtaken  by 
Captain  Ahrens.  The  Duke  of  Guise  had  an 
invitation  to  hunt  wild  boar  in  the  forest  of  St. 
Germain  the  following  day,  but  he  received  a 
note  from  the  Duke  de  Nevers  urging  him  not  to 
go.  In  the  evening  he  boldly  presented  himself 
at  the  Louvre,  but  the  King  refused  to  see  him. 
That  night  a  servant  in  the  employ  of  the 
Princess  Claude  brought  him  a  note  from 
Marguerite.  Her  letter  had  been  torn  from 
de  la  Rochefoucauld.  With  this  double  proof 
all  was  known,  and  King  Charles,  a  mad  man 
when  angry,  had  sworn  to  kill  the  Duke  for 
his  presumption,  and  had  commissioned  An- 
gouleme  to  shoot  him  at  the  hunt  as  if  by 
accident.  The  poor  Princess  had  suffered 
acutely,  but  comprehending  that  she  could  save 
his  life  in  no  way  but  by  renunciation,  she  had 
resolved  upon  this  course  :  "  I  shall  love  you 
to  my  death,"  she  wrote.  "  It  is  because  I 
love  you  with  a  self-abnegation,  which  is  pos- 
sibly beyond  your  comprehension,  that  I  beg 


300  Renaissance  Chateaux 

you  to  obey  my  last  command  and  immediately 
marry  the  Princess  de  Porcien." 

Henri  of  Guise  was  man  enough  to  rebel  on 
the  first  reading  of  these  unselfish  words.  But 
his  mother  flung  herself  upon  her  knees  before 
him,  and  urged  that  he  imperilled  not  only  him- 
self but  the  Princess  Marguerite  by  refusal, 
whereupon  he  rode  to  the  Hotel  de  Nevers, 
where  Catherine  de  Cleves  was  visiting  her 
sister  Henriette,  and  laid  Marguerite's  letter 
in  her  lap.  "  You  can  save  my  life,"  he  said. 
"Will  you  doit?" 

It  was  a  strange  wooing,  but  the  Princess  de 
Porcien  answered  :  "  It  is,  perhaps,  the  best 
use  to  which  my  broken  life  can  be  put,  and 
I  owe  you  the  service,  since  you  once  saved 
mine "  ;  and  they  were  wedded  in  all  haste. 
They  took  up  their  dwelling  presently  in  the 
mansion  which  the  Cardinal  had  purchased  for 
his  nephew  and  which  had  been  fitted  up  as  a 
little  palace  for  the  Princess  Marguerite,  and  I 
remaining  as  chief  lady-in-waiting  for  the  new 
Duchess  of  Guise. 

Shortly  after  this  the  Court  removed  to 
Blois,  and  though  the  royal  family  showed  the 
Guises  no  favour,  still  it  was  evident  that  this 
marriage  had  turned  aside  the  murderous  rage 
of  the  King.  It  was  not  long  before  we  heard 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole    301 

great  news  and  strange,  how  Coligny  had 
been  called  to  Court  and  was  high  in  favour 
with  King  Charles.  The  Huguenots  were  not 
only  tolerated,  but  made  much  of,  and,  wonder 
of  wonders,  peace  and  general  good  will  was 
to  be  effected  by  the  marriage  of  the  Princess 
Marguerite  to  the  chief  of  the  reformed  party, 
Henri  of  Navarre. 

It  was  Coligny  who  had  counselled  this,  and 
that  Huguenots  and  Catholics  should  for- 
get their  old  hatreds  and  unite  with  the  Neth- 
erlands in  their  struggle  against  Philip  of 
Spain.  The  plan  for  the  marriage  was  ac- 
cepted by  Charles  with  enthusiasm.  Jeanne 
d'Albret,  the  mother  of  Henri  of  Navarre,  was 
invited  to  the  Court  and  all  was  arranged. 
[See  note  3  appendix.] 

She  also  obtained  the  King's  consent  for 
the  marriage  of  the  Prince  de  Conde  with  Marie 
de  Cleves,  youngest  daughter  of  the  late  Duke 
de  Nevers  and  sister  of  the  Duchess  of 
Guise.  The  Duke  of  Guise  did  not  fancy 
having  Henri  of  Conde  for  his  brother-in-law, 
but  when  his  wife  told  him  how  the  young 
betrothed  had  lone  loved  each  other,  he  said 

o 

that  a  marriage  for  love  was  so  rare  a  thing 
that  one  might  well  set  aside  old  feuds  to  bring 
it  about. 


302  Renaissance  Chateaux 

There  was  one  feud  which  Henri  of  Guise 
would  never  give  up,  though  the  King 
sought  to  heal  it,  and  that  was  the  vendetta 
which  he  cherished  against  Coligny,  whom  he 
believed  to  be  the  murderer  of  his  father. 

We  were  now  in  the  spring  of  1572.  In 
my  own  personal  history  I  had  one  cause  for 
happiness  and  another  for  sadness.  The  first 
because  I  had  heard  that  Charles  de  la  Roche- 
foucauld had  not  been  seriously  injured  by  the 
bravo  Ahrens  ;  the  second,  that  the  Princess 
Marguerite  seemed  to  have  forgotten  me  since 
my  misadventure  in  the  matter  of  her  love 
letters.  I  was  soon  to  know  the  reason  and 
the  penalty  for  her  displeasure. 

Marie  de  Cleves  and  Prince  Henri  de  Conde 
were  married  at  the  chateau  of  Blandy,  near 
Fontainebleau,  early  in  July.  It  was  an  ances- 
tral chateau  of  the  Condes  and  the  residence 
of  the  Prince's  mother.  The  fete  given  on  this 
occasion  was,  with  the  exception  of  the  festiv- 
ities which  followed  on  the  occasion  of  the 
marriage  of  the  Princess  Marguerite,  the  most 
brilliant  one  of  that  year.  The  Protestant 
nobles  gathered  from  all  parts  of  France. 
Henri  of  Navarre  came  with  his  following. 
The  Montmorencys  appeared  in  force.  Re- 
nee  of  France  and  of  Montargis  came  with 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole    303 

her  daughter,  Anne  d'Este,  the  mother  of  the 
Duke  of  Guise,  the  de  la  Rochefoucaulds, 
the  Admiral  de  Coligny  and  all  his  clan,  and 
not  the  Huguenots  alone,  but  the  relatives  and 
friends  of  the  bride  and  groom,  of  whatever 
religion  or  party,  and  the  royal  family  itself, 
honoured  the  occasion.  But  for  once  in  her 
life  the  Princess  Marguerite  saw  herself  out- 
shone, for  the  three  sisters  of  the  house  of 
Cleves  ;  Henriette,  who  had  brought  the  duchy 
of  Nevers  to  Louis  de  Gonzaga,  Catherine, 
now  Duchess  of  Guise,  and  Marie,  the  bride 
of  the  Prince  de  Conde,  were  unanimously  ac- 
claimed as  the  "Three  Graces,"  and  the  most 
beautiful  women  in  all  France. 

They  were  so  different  in  their  beauty.  The 
Duchess  of  Nevers  had  a  spice  of  coquetry  and 
mockery  which  rendered  her  irresistibly  be- 
witching, while  there  was  in  the  loveliness  of 
the  Duchess  of  Guise  a  certain  poetry  and  sus- 
picion of  sadness  which  roused  one's  most  re- 
spectful affection  ;  but  the  little  Princess  of 
Conde  in  her  childlike  innocence  and  joyous- 
ness,  in  her  manifest  devotion  to  her  young 
bridegroom,  which  she  made  no  attempt  to  con- 
ceal, excited  a  tumult  of  admiration,  sympathy, 
and  love  in  the  heart  of  every  beholder. 

"  I  am  so  happy  !  "  she  exclaimed  at  frequent 


304  Renaissance  Chateaux 

intervals.     "  Oh !    how    beautiful  it    is  to    be 
alive  ! " 

Everyone  smiled,  but  there  were  tears  in  our 
eyes.  It  angered  me  when  I  saw  Anjou 
watching  her  with  an  intensity  of  interest 
which  I  had  never  seen  him  display  before. 
I  had  thought  him  incapable  of  emotion,  but 
at  last  his  cold  soul  was  touched  and  he  was 
more  terrible  in  his  kindling  passion  than 
he  had  ever  been  in  his  heartless  malevolence. 
He  asked  her  to  dance  with  him,  and  her 
glance  sought  her  husband's  face  question- 
ingly.  The  Prince  of  Conde  placed  her  hand 
courteously  in  that  of  Anjou's.  The  night 
was  a  stifling  one  and  the  glare  of  the  flam- 
beaux made  the  heat  of  the  crowded  salon 
unbearable.  The  Princess  wore  a  lace  ruff 
of  many  plaits  tightly  gathered  about  her 
throat.  It  became  oppressively  suffocating, 
and  in  attempting  to  adjust  it  more  comfort- 
ably the  thread  which  pleated  it  was  broken. 
She  retired  to  an  adjoining  apartment,  and 
replacing  the  ruff  by  another,  returned  to  the 
ballroom.  Possessing  himself  of  this  piece 
of  lace,  the  Duke  of  Anjou  knotted  it  scarf- 
wise  across  his  breast.  The  little  bride  did 
not  fancy  the  theft,  and  besought  him  to 
restore  her  property  ;  but  this  Anjou  refused 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole    305 

to  do,  and  he  wore  it  afterward  on  several 
occasions,  boasting  that  the  Princess  had 
given  it  to  him  as  a  favour.  It  was  heavily 
perfumed  and  had  been  purchased  of  Rene, 
the  Queen's  Italian  perfumer.  Later,  when 
Anjou's  infatuation  for  Marie  de  Cleves  be- 
came known,  the  Princess  Marguerite  ex- 
plained it  by  asserting  that  Marie,  fearing 
that  the  Prince  de  Conde  did  not  love  her 
as  warmly  as  she  would  have  him,  had  re- 
quested Rene  to  prepare  for  her  a  love  pow- 
der which  would  compel  the  affection  of  all 
who  inhaled  its  perfume.  Be  this  as  it  may, 
from  that  day  the  Duke  of  Anjou  made 
no  secret  of  his  passion  for  the  Princess  of 
Conde*,  and  persevered  in  it  to  her  great 
unhappiness  and  misfortune. 

After  the  wedding  the  young  couple  came 
to  Paris  and  established  themselves  in  the 
palace  of  the  Bourbons,  between  the  Louvre 
and  the  Church  of  St.  Germain  1'Auxerrois.  I 
shall  have  more  to  relate  concerning  them, 
but  I  must  here  set  down  the  grievous  mis- 
understanding which  came  between  Charles 
de  la  Rochefoucauld  and  myself  at  the  wed- 
ding of  Marie  de  Cleves. 

I  had  approached  the  Princess  Marguerite 
to  ask  humbly  the  reason  of  her  displeasure, 


306  Renaissance  Chateaux 

when  she  drew  herself  up  proudly  and,  laying 
her  hand  on  the  King's  arm,  said  :  "  Charles, 
this  is  the  friend  for  whom  I  asked  the  favour 
this  morning." 

Calling  his  secretary,  the  King  received  from 
him  and  handed  me  a  folded  paper,  bidding  me 
read  the  same  and  then  give  it  to  Charles  de  la 
Rochefoucauld,  as  a  reward  for  past  services. 

As  I  bowed  low,  murmuring  I  know  not 
what,  Marguerite  hissed  in  my  ear :  "  It  is 
a  reward  for  you  both  for  your  treachery 
in  betraying  my  letters  to  my  brother.  Go, 
and  may  you  know  what  it  is  to  be  given, 
unloving,  to  a  husband  who  does  not  love 
you." 

I  slipped  away  and  broke  the  seal  of  the 
document,  which  raised  the  seigneury  of  Ran- 
dan in  Auvergne  to  a  countship,  and  conferred 
it  on  Charles  de  la  Rochefoucauld,  "  on  con- 
dition of,  and  on  the  day  of  his  marriage  with 
Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole." 

My  heart  bounded  and  then  stood  still. 
"  Who  does  not  love  you,"  the  Princess  had 
said  ;  and  Marguerite  must  know.  It  was  re- 
fined cruelty  which  neither  of  us  deserved  ;  for 
we  had  faithfully  endeavoured  to  serve  her. 
I  doubted  not  that  Charles  de  la  Rochefou- 
cauld would  sacrifice  himself  if  he  thought 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole    307 

I  cared  for  him,  but  I  determined  instantly 
that  he  should  never  know  that  the  little 
comedy  of  love-making  at  which  we  had 
played  had  been  more  genuine  on  my  side  than 
on  his.  I  therefore  wrote  on  the  document : 

"  Not  wishing  to  involve  a  gentleman  whom 
she  highly  esteems  in  a  union  doubtless  as 
repugnant  to  him  as  to  herself,  Sylvie  de  la 
Mirandole  respectfully  declines  the  honour 
which  his  Majesty  proposes  to  confer  upon 
her,  and  begs  that  the  patent  of  nobility 
and  the  estates  cvf  Randan  may  be  con- 
ferred without  condition  upon  Monsieur  de  la 
Rochefoucauld." 

And  now  came  on  the  marriage  of  the  Prin- 
cess Marguerite  to  the  King  of  Navarre.  It 
took  place  with  great  magnificence  at  the  ca- 
thedral of  Notre  Dame  in  Paris  on  the  i8th  of 
August,  1572.  King  Charles  had  pushed  the 
preparations  and  when  the  Pope  delayed  his 
dispensation  had  declared  that  if  it  came  not 
he  would  take  his  sister  to  a  Huguenot  church 
and  cause  her  to  be  married  by  its  rites. 
During  the  ceremony  the  Duke  of  Guise  stood 
at  a  little  distance  and  his  gaze  was  fixed  so 
piercingly  on  Marguerite's  face  that  she  felt  it 
and  trembled.  When  the  Cardinal  asked  her 
if  she  took  Henri  of  Navarre  for  her  wedded 


308  Renaissance  Chateaux 

husband,  she  was  so  overcome  that  she  could 
not  reply,  and  the  Cardinal  being  disquieted, 
the  King,  who  conducted  her  to  the  altar, 
grasped  the  back  of  her  head  and  forced  her  to 
bow  in  acquiescence.  Turning,  he  gave  the 
Duke  of  Guise  a  look  of  such  rage  that  he 
slipped  quickly  away. 

The  Duke  of  Anjou  was  the  author  of  the 
diversions  which  followed.  There  was  a  Court 
ball  and  ballet  in  which  the  courtiers  took 
part.  The  plot  was  of  Anjou's  invention  but 
the  libretto  was  written  by  a  young  poet  in 
his  employ  named  Philippe  Desportes,  a  man 
without  a  soul,  of  exquisite  taste  but  utterly 
lacking  in  moral  sense,  whose  only  aim  was  to 
make  himself  agreeable  to  Anjou.  He  wrote 
his  love  letters,  and  gave  his  master  his  false 
reputation  for  superficial  culture,  adding-  as  it 
were  a  perfume  to  his  poison  and  thus  making 
it  doubly  dangerous. 

The  great  hall  of  the  Bourbon  palace  was 
used  for  the  ballet.  As  I  have  heard,  for  I  saw 
it  not,  it  was  a  wonder  of  stage  scenery  and 
ingenious  mechanism.  At  one  side  there  was 
a  representation  of  a  white-towered  citadel  with 
jewelled  gates,  the  Paradise  of  the  Apocalypse, 
from  whose  battlements  angels  leaned  waving 
their  palms,  extending  crowns  and  wreaths,  or 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole  309 

making  sweet  minstrelsy.  In  front  of  this 
heavenly  city  stretched  the  "  Elysian  Fields  " 
or  main  stage,  on  which  the  action  chiefly  took 
place  ;  and  on  the  opposite  side  was  Hell, 
containing  a  great  revolving  wheel  on  which 
grimy  devils  and  scarlet-coated  imps  danced 
and  made  a  hideous  racket. 

Three  paladins,  the  King  and  his  two 
brothers,  issued  on  horseback  from  the  gates 
of  Paradise  and  stood  lance  in  rest  guarding  the 
entrance.  The  King  of  Navarre  with  Conde 
and  the  older  La  Rochefoucauld  appeared  and 
demanded  admission  for  the  Huguenots.  A 
mock  battle  then  ensued  in  which  the  Protest- 
ant knights  were  pushed  into  Hell  and  seized 
upon  by  the  devils  amid  a  great  explosion  of 
fireworks. 

Pots  of  plants  and  flowers  were  then  trun- 
dled upon  the  "  Elysian  Fields  "  with  painted 
scenery  which  temporarily  shut  out  the  view 
of  the  infernal  regions,  and  the  goddesses  of 
the  pagan  world  took  possession  of  the  stage, 
dancing  and  singing  in  an  operetta,  which 
lasted  over  an  hour.  This  was  to  represent 
the  coming  of  the  Renaissance  which  was  to 
harmonise  the  feuds  of  the  Christian  religions 
and  restore  the  world  to  a  state  of  primeval 
peace  and  love. 


310  Renaissance  Chateaux 

For  the  third  act  Charles  IX.  and  his  Cath- 
olic knights  beseiged  Hell,  broke  open  the 
gates,  and  delivering  the  Huguenot  captives 
returned  with  them  to  Paradise  ;  the  devils 
resisting  vigorously,  and  discharging  so  many 
fireworks  that  had  it  not  been  for  the  archan- 
gels who  were  provided  with  pumps  and  water- 
guns  and  acted  as  an  amateur  fire  department, 
the  entire  palace  would  have  been  in  flames. 

Two  great  works  of  Jean  Goujon's  had  sug- 
gested tableaux  for  the  festivity  to  the  Duke 
of  Anjou,  or  rather  to  his  factotum,  Desportes. 
One  of  these  was,  of  course,  the  famous  Fon- 
taine des  Innocents,  with  its  stately  water- 
nymphs  emptying  their  Grecian  urns.  Anjou 
wished  them  to  be  reproduced  exactly,  and  to 
be  called  the  Nymphs  of  Harmony  pouring 
the  waters  of  Oblivion  upon  the  fires  of  Dis- 
cord. It  would  make  a  pretty  tableau,  but 
more  effective  still  was  to  be  that  of  the  Three 
Graces. 

The  Duchess  of  Guise  was  not  blind  to  the 
Duke  of  Anjou's  passion  for  her  sister,  and 
when  Philippe  Desportes  called  upon  her  to 
explain  that  his  master  had  assigned  these 
characters  in  his  ballet  to  herself,  to  the  Duch- 
ess of  Nevers,  and  to  the  Princess  of  Conde, 
she  was  not  overpleased,  and  held  back  her 


i 

!  I 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole  311 

consent  until  she  could  consult  with  her  hus- 
band. Desportes  had  brought  word  that  Jean 
Goujon  would  arrange  the  costumes  and  that 
the  rehearsals  would  take  place  in  a  great  va- 
cant hall  of  the  Louvre,  where  he  was  now  at 
work. 

The  apartment  was  admirably  suited  for  this 
purpose,  for  it  occupied  the  ground  floor  of 
the  new  pavilion,  extending  northward  from 
the  long  south  gallery,  and  opened  on  the 
same  court  as  the  Hotel  de  Bourbon,  where 
the  entertainment  would  take  place. 

Designed  as  the  future  ante-chamber  of  the 
royal  apartments,  it  was  accessible  without 
passing  through  the  palace,  but,  as  its  interior 
decoration  was  still  incomplete,  it  was  not  yet 
used.  Workmen  had  been  coming  and  going, 
so  the  door  which  connected  it  with  the  Louvre 
was  locked.  It  was,  therefore,  at  once  retired 
and  conveniently  near  at  hand  both  to  the  resi- 
dents of  the  Hotel  de  Bourbon  and  of  the 
Louvre,  making  possible  the  festive  and  sinis- 
ter events  which  were  soon  to  take  place 
within  its  walls. 

When  the  Duchess  of  Guise  imparted  her 
forebodings  to  her  husband,  he  desired  her  not 
to  anger  the  Duke  of  Anjou,  saying  that  they 
needed  each  other's  help  in  a  great  project 


312  Renaissance  Chateaux 

now  in  hand,  and  that  it  was  for  the  Prince  de 
Conde  to  look  after  his  wife. 

So  saying,  he  rode  away,  and  the  Duchess 
ordered  her  litter  in  haste,  desiring  me  to  ac- 
company her  to  the  Hotel  de  Bourbon.  Ar- 
rived at  her  sister's  residence,  \\  e  were  informed 
that  the  Princess  de  Conde  had  just  gone  out, 
having  been  sent  for  by  the  Princess  Mar- 
guerite. They  were  inseparable,  and  the 
Duchess  of  Guise  hardly  knew  what  to  think 
of  this  sudden  friendship.  As  we  stood  in  the 
doorway  the  Duchess  looked  toward  the  west- 
ern wing,  where  was  the  great  hall  which  I  have 
described.  She  was  surprised  to  see  her  hus- 
band entering  the  doorway  in  company  with 
the  Duke  of  Anjou. 

"  'T  is  some  secret  conference,  doubtless, 
touching  the  matter  which  Henri  told  me  was  in 
hand,"  she  murmured.  "  I  was  on  the  point  of 
calling  on  Jean  Goujon,  but  I  will  not  disturb 
them  ;  instead,  I  will  wait  here  for  my  sister's 
return."  So  we  went  inside,  and  after  a  full 
hour  came  the  Princess  de  Conde,  all  excite- 
ment with  a  delightful  adventure  which  had 
just  befallen  her. 

The  Princess  Marguerite,  she  said,  had  in- 
vited her  to  see  with  her  the  noble  caryatides 
and  other  beautiful  sculptures  with  which  Jean 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole  3J3 

Goujon  was  ornamenting  the  Louvre.  It  was 
such  a  pleasure  to  meet  again  their  old  friend 
who  had  told  her  fascinating  fairy  tales  when 
she  was  a  child  at  Nevers.  They  had  talked 
together  of  those  old  days  and  of  the  legend 
of  the  Swan  Knight  which  he  had  sculptured 
for  their  father's  chateau. 

"  And  did  he  speak  of  me  ? "  the  Duchess 
asked,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  No,  and  I  thought  it  strange  and  uncivil 
of  him,  remembering  what  friends  you  had 
been,  and  when  I  reminded  him  of  you  he 
asked  no  questions  but  looked  displeased,  and 
shewed  me  the  Tournament  of  the  Myth 
Creatures,  which  he  is  designing  for  the  river- 
front of  the  palace,  such  pretty  frolic  children 
and  strange  animals  —  dragons  and  dolphins 
and  sea  horses.  I  made  him  tell  me  again  the 
story  of  Pan,  the  god  of  wild  waste  places, 
who  loved  to  dance  in  the  forest  with  the 
nymphs  and  to  frighten  hunters  with  strange 
noises.  He  said  that  he  believed  that  God 
had  not  left  the  world  to  itself,  but  that  nature 
was  full  of  these  guardians  and  ministers,  little 
gods,  as  the  old  Greek  called  them,  only  we 
had  not  eyes  to  see  them. 

"  When  I  objected  that  the  pagans  con- 
ceived these  fabulous  creatures  as  grotesque 


314  Renaissance  Chateaux 

and  mis-shapen,  he  said  they  seemed  more 
human  and  nearer  also  the  heart  of  our  all 
Father  for  their  very  inconsistencies  and  ab- 
surdities than  the  angels,  who  are  so  impossibly 
perfect  and  who  never  laugh.  He  must  love 
little  children  also,  for  he  has  depicted  them 
most  irresistibly." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  Duchess  of  Guise,  "  he 
has  babes  of  his  own,  for  I  heard  long  since 
of  his  marriage,  and  wondered  that  I  heard  it 
not  from  him." 

"  Nay,  in  that  you  were  misinformed,"  said 
her  sister,  "  for  he  told  me  that  he  had  never 
married,  and  that  his  statues  were  his  only 
loves.  '  True  they  are  but  stone,'  he  said  ; 
'  but  it  is  better  to  be  so  through  and  through 
than  to  have  a  soft  face  and  a  stony  heart.' ' 

The  Duchess  roused  herself.  "  Better  a 
heart  of  stone  than  a  broken  one,"  she  said, 
and  then  :  "  But  you  and  the  Princess  were  not 
alone  with  Jean  Goujon.  What  business  had 
my  husband  and  the  Duke  of  Anjou  with 
him?" 

"  They  did  not  come  in  until  later.  It  was 
a  mere  chance,  but  being  come,  the  Duke  of 
Anjou  was  vastly  polite,  and  when  I  told  him 
how  interested  I  was  in  Jean  Goujon  he  said 
he  would  become  his  patron,  and  give  him  an 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole  315 

order  for  a  statue.  This  pleased  me  very 
much  until  I  understood  that  it  was  to  be  a 
statue  of  me,  when  I  told  him  that  I  must  con- 
sult my  husband.  He  begged  me  not  to  do 
so,  for  he  said  it  would  be  such  a  pretty  sur- 
prise to  give  Henri  on  his  birthday." 

"  And  you  consented  ! " 

"  Why,  yes,  Catherine ;  I  want  to  give  him 
some  token,  and  I  am  sure  there  is  nothing 
which  would  please  him  more." 

"  But,  Marie,  if  this  is  done  at  the  order  of 
the  Duke  of  Anjou,  it  is  not  your  gift." 

"  I  thought  of  that,  and  said  I  must  pay  for 
it,  whereupon  he  consented,  saying  I  should 
have  my  own  way  in  all  things,  if  only  I  would 
allow  Jean  Goujon  to  make  a  replica  of  it  for 
him." 

"To  that  you  surely  did  not  consent?" 

"  I  could  not  see  that  I  had  any  right  to 
prevent  our  friend  from  accepting  so  valuable 
a  commission." 

The  poor  Duchess  was  quite  wild,  and 
laboured  with  the  Princess  de  Conde  until  she 
burst  into  tears,  and  promised  to  tell  her  hus- 
band everything.  Even  then  the  Duchess  of 
Guise  was  not  reassured,  and  as  we  left  the 
Hotel  de  Bourbon  she  said  to  me  :  "  Late  as 
it  is,  I  think  I  will  see  Jean  Goujon, "and  we 


316  Renaissance  Chateaux 

went  together  to  the  hall  where  he  was  work- 
ing. Very  gravely  he  listened  while  she  told 
him  of  the  trouble  that  weighed  upon  her. 

"  Dearest  lady,"  he  said,  "  you  may  dismiss 
your  fears ;  I  have  just  declined  the  Duke's 
commission  to  execute  a  statue  of  the  Princess 
of  Conde",  having  divined  something  of  his 
designs  from  his  conversation.'" 

"  You  have  dared  displease  the  Duke  of 
Anjou  !  "  Catherine  exclaimed  ;  "  then  I  fear 
you  may  forfeit  your  position  as  decorator 
of  the  palace." 

"That  will  not  grieve  me,"  he  replied.  "  I 
have  long  had  in  mind  a  noble  statue  which  I 
desire  to  make  the  masterpiece  of  my  life,  and 
which  the  royal  commissions  have  left  me  no 
time  to  execute.  I  have  only  been  learning 
my  craft  so  far.  I  ask  no  greater  boon  than 
to  be  allowed  to  retire  to  some  obscure  place 
to  execute  my  best  work." 

And  now  I  come  to  that  part  of  my  story 
which  seems  to  many  incredible,  and  which  I 
tell  to  few.  I  did  not  see  the  famous  ballet,  as 
I  had  hoped,  for  on  our  arrival  at  the  Hotel  de 
Bourbon  the  Duke  of  Guise  asked  me  to  carry 
a  letter  to  Marguerite,  now  Queen  of  Navarre, 
before  she  appeared  at  the  divertisement,  and 
I  was  by  no  means  to  return  without  her  answer. 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole   3 1 7 

I  walked  along  a  corridor  of  the  Louvre  to  her 
apartment,  which  was  on.  the  second  story 
in  the  central  part  of  the  building.  Her  maid 
told  me  that  she  was  with  her  mother,  but 
would  return,  so  I  sat  down  to  wait  in  an 
ante-room  beside  a  small  ceil  du  bceuf,  or  cir- 
cular window.  Looking  from  it,  I  was  sur- 
prised to  see  that  it  commanded  not  the  open 
court  but  the  interior  of  the  great  hall  which  I 
had  visited  with  the  Duchess  of  Guise.  It 
was  probably  so  arranged  in  order  that  the 
Queen  Mother  (who  afterwards  used  this 
apartment)  should  know  who  was  waiting  an 
audience  in  the  great  hall.  It  was  vacant  and 
quiet  now,  but  it  was  dimly  lighted  by  a  few 
waxen  tapers  in  the  sconces.  The  Queen  of 
Navarre  came  not,  for  she  had  gone  with  her 
mother  to  the  Hotel  de  Bourbon,  but  I  waited 
on.  The  palace  was  very  still,  and  after  a 
time  I  fell  asleep,  wakened  with  a  start  by  the 
sound  of  music.  It  was  so  faint  that  I  knew 
it  must  be  the  echo  of  the  festivities  at  the 
Hotel  de  Bourbon,  but  there  were  figures 
dancing  in  the  great  shadowy  hall  below.  I 
rubbed  my  eyes  and  pinched  myself  to  be  sure 
I  was  well  awake.  A  train  of  nymphs  they 
were,  in  fluttering  Greek  draperies.  The  leader 
held  a  Bacchanalian  thyrsus,  entwined  with  ivy, 


318  Renaissance  Chateaux 

with  which  she  beat  time ;  the  others  long 
garlands,  which  they  swayed  in  graceful  undu- 
lations. Their  poses  were  statuesque,  their 
movements  exquisitely  rhythmical ;  but  all  was 
wierdly  mysterious,  for  there  was  no  footfall, 
no  sound  of  any  description  save  that  throb 
and  drone  of  the  distant  violins  and  bassoons. 
Suddenly  a  light  wind  seemed  to  spring  up  in 
the  sultry  August  night,  and  there  thrilled  from 
the  wood-wind  instruments  a  wild  musical  wail 
—such  a  wierd,  unearthly  melody  as  might  have 
sobbed  from  all  the  pipes  of  the  forest  fauns  at 
the  word  that  Pan  was  dead.  Then  there  was 
a  flaw  in  the  wind,  and  the  dance  music  revelled 
again  with  its  insistant  pulsing,  an  orgy  sug- 
gested rather  than  heard.  But  ever  and  anon 
the  first  wailing  melody  shivered  across  the  fes- 
tal undertone,  and  the  nymphs  were  frozen  into 
listening  attitudes.  All  the  time  the  noble 
caryatides  looked  down  upon  them  with  their 
calm  faces,  rendered  stern  by  the  deep  shadows, 
inexorable  as  fate  and  unsympathetic  alike 
to  the  merriment  and  grief  of  the  strange 
scene.  I  had  noticed  the  most  petite  and 
nimble  of  the  nymphs  frequently  making  mock- 
ing gestures  at  these  impassive  genii,  some- 
times throwing  them  kisses  or  beckoning  to 
them  derisively  to  join  the  dance.  When  it 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole  319 

ended  she  tripped  up  the  tiny  staircase  to  the 
tribune  and  wound  the  two  caryatides  with  the 
garlands.  Then  she  joined  her  companions, 
there  was  another  swell  of  harps  and  viols,  and 
hand  in  hand  the  frolic  band  danced  from  the 
darkening  hall. 

I  doubted  not  that  what  I  had  seen  was 
something  beyond  the  ordinary  —  not  super- 
natural, as  some  would  convince  me,  though 
beyond  our  usual  insight  into  nature,  and  I 
was  not  frightened  as  one  who  had  seen 
ghosts,  but  grateful  that  there  had  been 
granted  me  the  same  vision  which  had  come 
to  one  of  my  own  race,  the  great  Pico  de  la 
Mirandola.  Nevertheless,  I  was  touched  with 
awe,  for  I  knew  that  such  visitations  are  often 
presages  of  death,  and  I  wondered  at  that 
heart-breaking  thrill  in  the  music  which  had 
startled  even  the  nymphs  themselves. 

So  I  sat  until  the  Queen  of  Navarre  re- 
turned from  the  revel,  when  I  gave  her  the 
letter  and  rejoined  the  Duchess  of  Guise.  We 
were  to  sleep  that  night,  as  guests  of  the 
Princess  of  Conde,  at  the  Hotel  de  Bourbon, 
instead  of  returning  to  the  Hotel  de  Guise. 

G> 

The  ballet  was  over,  and  the  three  sisters  sat 
together  in  the  boudoir  of  the  Princess,  com- 
paring their  impressions  of  the  festival,  while 


320  Renaissance  Chateaux 

I  assisted  in  combing  out  their  long  hair. 
Henriette  expressed  her  surprise  that  the 
artist  who  posed  the  tableaux  should  have 
been  Germain-Pilon  instead  of  Jean  Goujon. 
"  He  is,  however,  a  man  of  taste,"  the  Duchess 
of  Nevers  added,  "  and  I  doubt  not  of  talent. 
I  can  find  no  fault  with  his  skill  in  arranging 
our  attitudes.  With  what  daintiness  he  joined 
our  hands  by  the  finger-tips  !  And  did  you 
note  the  delicacy  with  which  he  draped  the 
folds  of  our  tunics,  gathering  them  through 
the  girdles,  and  letting  Marie's  peplum  fall  so 
adroitly  from  her  shoulder,  while  mine  was 
discreetly  clasped  in  the  most  modest  manner  ? 
He  told  me  that  the  Duke  of  Anjou  has  per- 
suaded the  Queen  Mother  to  give  him  the 
order  to  execute  a  group  of  statuary  to  sup- 
port the  urn  which  is  to  contain  the  heart  of 
her  late  husband,  and  he  assured  me  that  he 
had  found  in  us  the  motive  for  the  group." 

"  The  Three  Graces,  to  support  a  funeral 
urn  in  the  Church  of  the  Celestines,"  ex- 
claimed Catherine.  "  How  absurd  !  " 

"  Oh  !  we  will  doubtless  be  rechristened  as 
The  Three  Theological  Virtues,"  replied  Hen- 
riette, "  for  Pilon  swears  that  he  will  repro- 
duce us  exactly  as  we  stood  on  the  revolving 
pedestal.  How  the  audience  did  cheer,  as  it 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole  321 

brought  first  one  and  then  another  of  us  into 
view  !  I  wish  we  might  have  seen  ourselves. 
It  is  strange,  I  admit,  that  Jean  Goujon  was 
not  chosen  to  pose  the  groups.  When  we 
went  for  our  rehearsal  this  afternoon  to  the 
hall  where  he  has  been  carving  his  caryatides,  I 
fully  expected  to  find  him  there." 

"I  did  not,"  said  Marie,  "for  the  Duke  of 
Anjou  told  me  that  Jean  Goujon  had  offended 
him  and  that  he  had  transferred  his  patronage 
to  Pilon." 

"  Ah  ! "  Catherine  drew  a  long  breath,  which 
seemed  to  say,  "  that  explains  all."  "  I  wish  I 
knew  that  he  was  safe,"  she  added,  as  her  sis- 
ters looked  toward  her  for  an  explanation. 
"I  have  had  all  the  day  a  strange  premonition 
of  evil.  At  our  final  rehearsal,  while  we  were 
practising  the  dance  of  the  nymphs,  I  seemed 
to  hear  low  moans  in  the  intervals  of  the 
music.  The  caryatides  seemed  monuments  at 
the  entrance  of  a  tomb.  If  Jean  Goujon  has 
incurred  the  hatred  of  the  Duke  of  Anjou,  he 
is  not  safe.  He  should  leave  Paris  at  once." 

"  Why  not  warn  him,  dear  lady  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  But  how  to  find  him?" 

"  His  work  in  the  new  hall  is  not  yet  fin- 
ished, and  he  begins  as  soon  as  it  is  light.  See, 
even  now  it  is  dawn.  I  will  go  and  wait  his 


322  Renaissance  Chateaux 

coming.  I  will  tell  the  sentinel  that  you  lost  a 
valuable  jewel  at  the  rehearsal,  and  he  will  let 
me  enter." 

Catherine  nodded  gratefully,  and  I  sped  away 
across  the  court.  The  sentinel  was  asleep  and 
I  had  no  need  to  lie  ;  the  door  was  unlocked 
and  I  entered  the  great  vacant  hall.  The  chill 
of  early  morning  twilight  was  in  the  air  —  the 
sun  had  not  yet  risen  nor  the  moon  set,  and 
squares  of  light  from  the  western  windows  lay 
like  white  sheets  upon  the  floor,  while  the  cor- 
ners of  the  room  were  in  darkness.  As  I 
entered  I  fancied  I  heard  a  groan.  "Is 
anyone  here?"  I  asked.  There  was  no  an- 
swer, and  I  took  a  step  forward,  slipped  and 
fell  upon  my  knees.  I  thought  at  first  that  I 
had  trodden  upon  a  rose,  but  as  I  entered  the 
lighted  area  I  saw  that  the  skirt  of  my  white 
robe  was  stained  with  dark  blotches.  A  can- 
dle was  guttering  in  its  sconce  at  the  other  end 
of  the  room.  I  brought  it  forward,  and,  exam- 
ining the  floor,  discovered  a  skein-like  rill  of 

o 

partly  coagulated  blood.  It  issued  from  be- 
neath a  curtain  that  screened  the  lower  part  of 
the  tribune,  supported  by  the  caryatides. 

Trembling  with  foreboding  of  what  I  would 
find,  I  lifted  the  curtain.  There,  stretched  on 
a  pallet,  which  he  had  caused  to  be  placed  in 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole   323 

this  recess  that  he  might  work  earlier  and  later, 
lay  Jean  Goujon,  foully  murdered  —  though 
life  was  not  yet  extinct.  I  found  water  and 
bathed  his  face,  and  he  asked  incoherently,— 

41  Are  you  one  of  my  stone  daughters  that 
I  created  ?  I  thought  you  would  come  to  life 
if  I  did  my  part  as  best  I  could.  Are  you 
one  of  my  nymphs  of  the  fountain  whom  I  saw 
dancing  here  an  hour  ago  ?  How  I  prayed  that 
you  would  let  some  of  the  cool  water  from  your 
urn  trickle  upon  my  forehead,  for  I  am  dying 
with  thirst.  Why  did  your  sisters  go  away  ? 
You  were  so  beautiful  and  joyous  that  while  I 
watched  you  I  forgot  my  pain." 

I  understood  now  that  the  goddesses  whom 
he  worshipped,  whom  he  had  made  others  love, 
had  ministered  to  him  as  he  lay  dying.  It  was 
but  natural  and  his  due.  His  fingers  sought 
my  hair  and  discerned  a  crescent  in  its  braids. 
He  smiled  and  called  me  Diane.  "  Are  you 
displeased,"  he  asked,  "  that  I  gave  my  Diane 
of  Anet  only  earthly  beauty  ?  I  could  not  give 
her  more,  for  I  but  copied  what  I  saw,  having 
had  no  visions  as  yet  of  ideal  beauty.  I  have 
waited  long  to  carve  my  statue  of  Immortality, 
and  a  face  which  I  have  worshipped  all  my 
life  has  been  revealed  to  me,  illumined  and 
transfigured.  At  last  I  shall  shape  a  soul." 


3^4  Renaissance  Chateaux 

His  raving  ceased  and  a  change  came  over 
his  face.  I  laid  his  poor  head  gently  back  and 
ran  from  the  room.  In  the  court  I  met  the 
Duchess  of  Guise,  who,  drawn  by  an  impulse 
of  alarm,  was  hastening  to  ascertain  the  reason 

O 

of  my  delay.  The  sleepy  sentinel  started  up, 
but  I  crave  the  excuse  which  we  had  agreed 

£>  O 

upon  :  "  My  mistress  has  lost  a  valuable  jewel 
within  the  hall,"  and  the  words  were  true,  for 
what  jewel  is  so  precious  as  a  faithful  heart  ? 
The  man  lowered  his  halberd  and  permitted  us 
to  enter.  Inside  the  hallway  I  drew  her  head 
down  upon  my  shoulder  and  asked  if  she  was 
strong  enough  to  bear  it.  She  was  trembling 
violently,  for  she  knew  what  I  meant,  and  she 
answered  :  "  Yes  ;  take  me  to  him." 

The  moon  had  set,  and  the  gray  light  of 
dawn  was  struggling  through  the  eastern  win- 

o  o         o  o 

dows.  Jean  Goujon's  fingers  were  opening 
and  closing  in  a  strange  purposeful  way.  I 
saw  in  a  moment  what  he  fancied,  and  whis- 
pered : 

"  He  is  modelling  clav." 

* 

"I  cannot  die  yet,"  he  gasped,  "when  it  is 
so  nearly  finished  ;  not  yet.  not  yet." 

She  knelt  beside  him  and  kissed  his  eyelids 
until  they  opened  slowly  ;  but  the  death-film 
was  on  his  eves,  and  he  saw  her  not  at  all,  or 


Story  of  Sylvie  de  la  Mirandole  325 

vaguely.  He  passed  his  hands  over  her  face, 
not  searchingly,  as  he  had  blindly  questioned 
mine,  but  manipulating  the  soft  flesh  with  his 
sentient,  creative  fingers,  as  though  it  were 
wax.  He  traced  her  profile  with  a  masterful 
movement,  accentuating  the  curves  so  that  they 
seemed  to  be  formed  under  his  touch,  and 
pressed  his  thumbs  hard  into  the  lovely  hollows 
where  her  mouth  melted  into  her  cheek,  then 
murmuring  "  Immortality,"  his  hand  fell  to  his 
side.  Catherine  remained  motionless,  as  the 
statue  he  had  fancied  her.  She  gazed  on  his 
dead  face  until,  hearing  the  grating  of  a  key  in 
the  door  which  opened  into  the  older  part  of 
the  Louvre,  I  dragged  her  from  him.  We  were 
not  a  moment  too  soon,  for  as  I  listened  for  an 
instant  in  the  vestibule  I  heard  a  voice  I  knew 
saying  coldly  :  "  I  thought  you  threw  him 
into  the  Seine.  It  is  too  light  now  to  carry 
the  body  across  the  court.  Take  up  the  floor 
and  bury  it  there,  beneath  the  gaze  of  his 
stone  women." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    HEART   OF   THE    VOLCANO 

Si  je  ne  loge  en  ces  maisons  dorees 
Au  front  superbe  aux  voutes  peinturees 
Mon  ceil  se  pait  des  tresors  de  la  plaine 
Riche  d'ceillet,  de  lys,  de  marjolaine, 
O  bien  heureux  !  qui  peut  passer  sa  vie 
Loin  du  tumulte  et  du  bruit  populaire 
Et  qui  ne  vend  sa  liberte  pour  plaire 
Aux  foux  desirs  des  princes  et  des  rois. 

De  cent  fureurs  il  n'al'ame  embrase"e 

Et  ne  maudit  sa  jeunesse  abusee 

Quand  il  ne  trouve  a  la  fin  que  du  vent. 

Les  grands  seigneurs  sans  cesse  il  n'importune 

Mais  en  vivant  content  de  sa  fortune 

II  est  sa  cour,  sa  faveur  et  son  roy. 

PHILIPPE  DESPORTES. 

I 
THE   ST.  BARTHOLOMEW  AND  THE    QUEEN'S    PERFUMER 

OF  all  that  happened  during  the  remainder 
of  that  week  of  tragedy,  I  have  but  a  con- 
fused memory.      Certain   episodes,  not  of  the 

326 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        327 

greatest  importance,  stand  out  as  vividly  as 
though  seen  by  a  flash  of  lightning  in  the 
midst  of  that  black  horror.  It  was  as  though 
I  was  led  through  hell  with  my  eyes  bandaged, 
hearing  fearsome  sounds,  the  rage  of  devils, 
and  the  torture  of  the  damned,  but  knowing 
nothing  certainly. 

The  Duchess  of  Guise  was  stunned  by  what 
she  had  endured.  I  guarded  her  in  her  cham- 
ber all  the  day  after  the  ballet,  suffering  no  one 
to  come  near  her,  giving  out  that  she  had  the 
vapors,  for  she  was  not  in  her  right  mind,  and 
her  babbling  might  have  been  misconstrued. 
The  Duke  did  not  miss  her.  He  had  that  upon 
his  mind  which  rendered  him  careless  of  others. 
I  never  saw  a  man  so  changed  as  when  he  came 
out  of  his  mother's  apartment,  where  he  was 
long  closeted,  and  rode  away  with  his  gentle- 
men to  the  Louvre.  As  to  his  mother,  the 
widow  of  the  murdered  Duke  Francis,  she,  too, 
was  a  different  woman.  I  heard  her  muttering 
to  herself  :  " '  Vengeance  is  mine,  saith  the 
Lord.'  Nay,  but  in  taking  that  vengeance  he 
must  serve  himself  of  men  ; "  and  I  trembled, 
for,  being  an  Italian,  I  well  understood  the  ven- 
detta, the  inheritance  of  revenge  ;  so  was  I  not 
greatly  astonished  when  she  told  me  as  a  secret 
that  the  King  had  commissioned  the  Duke  of 


328  Renaissance  Chateaux 

Guise  to  execute  upon  Admiral  Coligny  the 
long  suspended  sentence  of  death  for  the  assas- 
sination of  Francis  of  Guise. 

The  guards  at  the  Hotel  de  Guise  were 
doubled,  none  of  the  household  were  allowed 
to  go  out,  though  the  Duke  of  Nevers  came 
once  and  Mayenne  many  times.  The  Duke 
of  Guise  wore  his  long  dagger  {foidegentil- 
Jwmme)  at  his  girdle  beside  his  sword,  and  a 
shirt  of  fine  chain  mail  under  his  satin  doublet. 
On  the  middle  of  the  night  before  Sunday  I 
heard  the  tramping  of  horses  in  the  court,  and, 
peering  out,  saw  him  riding  away.  Then  I 
fell  into  a  troubled  sleep,  from  which  I  was 
awakened  by  a  clanging  of  bells — at  first^ 
as  I  thought,  of  the  great  bell  of  St.  Germain 
de  1'Auxerrois,  caught  up  by  a  jangling  in  the 
belfries  of  the  monastery  of  the  Blancs  Man- 
teaux  and  of  the  Temple  on  either  side  of  us.  I 
dressed,  and  suddenly  there  arose  in  the  streets 
a  tumult,  and  the  Duchess  Catherine  cried  to 
me  that  something  horrible  was  going  on. 

"  It  is  the  uprising  of  the  Huguenots,"  said 
the  dowager  Duchess,  "  of  which  the  King  was 
warned,  and  which  he  hoped  to  frustrate  by  the 
execution  of  the  Admiral.  Henri  will  soon  re- 
turn. He  left  orders  to  keep  the  gates  barred 
until  he  arrived." 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        329 

The  Duke  did  not  come  until  late  in  the  day, 
and  in  the  meantime  there  came  a  wild  beating 
at  the  gates  and  the  cry,  "  Open,  in  the  Duke's 
name ! " 

I  was  peering  from  the  turret  window  beside 
the  portal,  and  I  knew  the  voice,  and  ran  and 
thrust  back  the  bolts.  It  was  Charles  de  la 
Rochefoucauld,  in  great  disorder  and  covered 
with  blood. 

"  It  is  my  brother's,"  he  said,  as  I  shrieked  ; 
"  he  died  in  my  arms.  I  besought  the  Duke 
of  Guise  when  I  knew  what  was  afoot  to  let  me 
save  him,  and  he  bade  me  bring  him  here,  but  I 
was  too  late.  When  I  reached  his  hotel  the 
Duke  of  Anjou's  men  were  there  before  me, 
plundering  the  house.  Frangois  made  a  grim- 
ace and  laid  his  finger  on  his  lip  as  I  burst  in. 
'  It  is  a  practical  joke  of  the  King's,'  he  said. 
*  Feign  to  be  affrighted.' 

"  It  is  no  fault  of  yours,  Sylvie  de  la  Miran- 
dole,  that  I  am  yet  alive,  for  your  lover, 
Ahrens,  commanded  the  assassins,  and  he  cried, 
'  Down  with  both  of  the  Rochefoucaulds  ;  they 
are  both  Huguenots.' 

'  I  have  come  to  arrest  my  brother  at  the 
command  of  the  Duke  of  Guise,'  I  cried, 
pointing  to  the  cross  of  Lorraine  in  my  hat. 

'The   authority   of  the  Duke   of  Anjou   is 


33°  Renaissance  Chateaux 

higher,'  Ahrens  replied,  and  he  thrust  his 
sword  into  Fran9ois's  breast.  I  gave  him  a 
thrust  that  will  keep  him  from  you  many  a  day, 
but  my  merry-hearted  brother  will  never  jest 
again."  * 

With  that  he  sank  on  the  pavement,  and  I 
saw  that  he  was  wounded.  He  would  not  let 
me  come  near  him,  and  the  Duchess  of  Guise 
herself  tended  his  hurt.  She  was  startled  out 
of  her  lethargy,  and  all  day  long,  at  her  order, 
the  gates  were  opened  to  every  desperate 
creature  demanding  refuge,  so  that  thus  over 
a  hundred  were  saved. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  Duke  and  his  men 
clattered  in,  they  and  their  horses  nearly  spent 
with  fatigue.  His  mother  ran  to  meet  him, 
and  his  face  was  grey  and  set  as  he  replied  to 
her  inquiry  : 

"  It  is  done  ;  but  in  that  act  of  justice  we 
have  let  loose  hell  itself." 

Further  than  this  I  remember  little.  We 
women  were  too  busy  succouring  the  refugees 
who  poured  into  the  building.  The  Duke  re- 

1  Fran9ois  de  la  Rochefoucauld  had  left  the  Louvre  late  that  night. 
The  King  had  feebly  striven  to  save  him.  "  Don't  go,  Foucaukl," 
he  had  said  ;  "it's  so  late  \ve  might  as  well  make  a  night  of  it." 
But  la  Rochefoucauld  had  replied  that  he  was  sleepy,  and  the  King 
had  let  his  companion  of  many  a  madcap  frolic  go  unsuspectingly  to 
his  death. 


irw:e 


s  replied,  ami  lie  thrust  his 
.  nrois's  breast,  I  gave  him  a 
krrp  him  from  you  many  a  day, 
k-art<-.l  broth*  r  will  never  jest 

•••merit,  and  I 
>  vvouuckn.  -Aould  not  let 


vi*.  i.omr  i  i.i<-                -;s  ot   v_ruise 

herself  tend-.  hurt,      hlv  .-.       -i.irtled  out 

of  hrr  leihur.  her  order, 

the    spates  sprratc. 

crt-ature  dernan;  •_:••,  so  ;JI,.L   ,    us  over 

of  the   Louvre,   after  Saint 


,  .  , 

Bartholomew's  Day 

iijFjoiji  the  painting  by  Debat  Ponson 
(With  permission  of  Ad.   Braun  et  Cie.) 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        331 

fused  no  one.  He  had  no  quarrel  save  with 
Coligny.  He  had  made  a  feint  at  chasing 
Montgomery  as  far  as  Montfort  1'Amaury,  but 
in  reality  he  had  been  a  rearguard  of  safety  to 
the  escaping  Huguenots.  I  defend  not  his 
cold-blooded,  brutal  murder  of  that  noble  man, 
Coligny, —  from  that  moment  God  forsook 
him, —  but  he  shall  not  stand  blacker  before 
the  world  than  he  really  was. 

For  three  days  an  insane  mob  swept  Paris. 
The  King's  troops  had  set  the  example,  and  the 
populace  joined  with  them,  slaying,  pillaging, 
burning.  Thousands  were  killed,  and  at  the 
end  of  that  week  there  were  no  more  of  the 
religion  left  in  the  city.  A  few  had  fled,  most 
were  dead,  the  rest  abjured  their  errors.  But, 
terrible  as  was  the  massacre  to  the  Huguenots, 
it  worked  more  lasting  harm  to  us  Catholics, 
leaving  those  who  had  taken  part  therein  to 
remorse,  and  the  rest  of  us  to  hang  our  heads 
for  shame  to  the  end  of  our  days.  Some  few 
there  were,  lost  souls,  who  suffered  not,  and 
such  an  one  was  the  Duke  of  Anjou.  He  had 
profited  by  the  opportunity  to  murder  his  jew- 
eller, Baduere,  to  whom  he  was  deeply  in  debt, 
and  to  rob  his  strong  boxes  of  pearls  and  jewels 
to  the  value  of  two  hundred  thousand  crowns. 

The  Duke  of  Guise  was  not  slow  in  learning 


332  Renaissance  Chateaux 

that  Catherine  de'  Medici  had  planned  to  lay 
upon  him  the  blame  of  inciting  the  populace 
to  all  these  murders.  She  had  counted  on 
his  fleeing  from  the  city  when  confronted  with 
this  charge,  but  she  had  not  estimated  his  cour- 
age, for  he  faced  her  valiantly  ;  and  the  Inner 
Council  also  knew  how  Catherine  had  laboured 
with  the  King,  first  to  command  Guise  to  slay 
Coligny,  and  then  (fearing  that  the  Huguenot 
lords  would  fasten  the  responsibility  where  it 
belonged)  to  consent  to  the  general  massacre. 
The  corpse  of  Coligny  was  hanged  on  the 
gibbet  of  Montfaucon,  but  it  disappeared,  and 
it  was  reported  that  Frangois  de  Montmo- 
rency  had  come  with  a  troop  of  horse  by  night 
and  escorted  his  cousin's  body  to  his  chateau 
of  Chantilly,  where  he  buried  it  in  the  same 
tomb  with  the  late  Constable. 

Henri  of  Navarre  and  the  Prince  de  Conde 
had  been  held  in  arrest  since  the  morning  of 
St.  Bartholomew's  Day,  and  the  Queen  Mother 
and  Anjou  were  insistent  with  the  King  to 
have  them  executed,  but  de  Nevers  counselled 
strongly  against  this,  holding  that  it  would  be 
a  mighty  blunder  thus  to  slay  two  princes  of 
the  blood.  The  Princess  Marguerite  also, 
who  was  ever  loyal  to  her  husband  where  his 
interests  opposed  those  of  her  own  family, 


ADMIRAL  QASPARD  DE  COLIQNY, 

FROM  A  DRAWING  BY  FRANCOIS  CLOUET. 

(By  permission  of  A.  Giraudon,  Paris.) 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        333 

plead  with  her  brother,  and  King  Charles,  who 
was  fond  of  the  King  of  Navarre,  swore 
roundly  that  "  Harry  "  should  not  be  touched. 
For  Conde  he  was  not  so  solicitous,  and  the 
poor  Duchess  of  Guise  knew  that  the  life  of 
her  favourite  brother-in-law  and  cousin  hung  on 
the  slightest  thread.  One  day  the  secret  spring 
of  the  forces  at  work  against  him  was  made  evi- 
dent, for  Marie  de  Cleves  told  her  sister  that  the 
Duke  of  Anjou  had  sent  her  a  coronet  and 
other  jewels  of  fabulous  value  and  had  made 
her  a  formal  offer  of  marriage,  saying  that  he 
counted  her  as  already  a  widow  and  the  Prince 
as  a  dead  man.  Horror-stricken  by  such  vil- 
lainy, she  had  turned  to  Catherine,  who,  poor 
lady,  was  as  helpless  as  herself.  "  There  is 
but  one  person  who  can  aid  her,"  I  cried  to  the 
Duchess,  when  I  knew  the  strait  she  was  in, 
"and  that  is  the  Princess  Marguerite." 

e> 

"  Is  it  like,"  asked  Catherine  ;  "  since  it  is  she 
who,  by  a  pretence  of  friendship  for  my  sister, 
has  brought  her  into  the  society  of  the  Duke 
of  Anjou,  that  she  will  credit  her  brother  with 
such  baseness  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  like,"  said  the  Duke  of  Guise. 
"  Marguerite  has  a  better  heart  than  you  give 
her  credit  for.  Let  our  Fulvie  act.  I  always 
said  she  had  the  eyes  of  a  lioness ;  I  trust 


334  Renaissance  Chateaux 

she  has  also  the  claws  and  will  scratch  that 
snake  well."  So,  for  the  sake  of  others,  I 
did  what  I  would  never  have  done  for  my 
own  sake,  and,  gaining  access  to  the  Queen 
of  Navarre  through  her  sister,  the  Princess 
Claude  of  Lorraine,  I  humbled  myself  and 
protested  to  her  satisfaction  that  I  had  not  be- 
trayed her  in  the  matter  of  her  correspondence, 
but  that  her  letter  had  been  wrested  from  me. 
I  brought  her  at  the  same  time  a  letter  from 
the  Duke  of  Guise,  who  besought  her,  for  the 
sake  of  old  memories,  to  listen  to  what  I  had 
to  say. 

The  trouble  which  she  had  borne  had 
softened  Marguerite's  heart,  and  though  she 
said  at  first,  "  What  can  I  do  ? "  as  she  lis- 
tened to  Anjou's  perfidy  her  eyes  kindled  and 
her  fingers  clinched,  and  she  cried :  "  One 
good  turn  deserves  another,  my  dear  brother. 
Get  me  that  proposal  of  marriage  to  the 
Princess,  Sylvie,  and  the  Prince  of  Conde's 
life  is  saved." 

And  so  it  proved,  for  though  the  massacre 
had  decided  Queen  Elizabeth  against  marrying 
a  prince  of  the  house  of  Valois,  Anjou's  mother 
still  cherished  the  hope  that  this  project  of 
Coligny's  might  be  realised,  and  she  would  by 
no  means  consent  to  the  Duke's  marriage  with 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        335 

Marie  of  Cleves.  The  Princess  of  Conde 
besought  her  husband  passionately  to  accept 
the  King's  conditions  and  conform,  and  he, 
seeing  in  what  peril  he  would  leave  her  if 
he  died  for  his  faith,  gave  in  his  submission, 
which  was  misunderstood  by  none.  Anjou, 
shortly  after,  was  sent  to  coerce  the  Ro- 
chellais.  While  he  was  away  the  Crown  of 
Poland  was  offered  him,  and  King  Charles, 
judging  that  his  own  life  was  safer  with  this 
loving  brother  at  a  distance,  compelled  him 
to  accept  it  and  thus  go  into  exile.  All 
marked  the  joy  shown  by  Marguerite  when 
this  dignity  was  conferred  upon  her  brother. 
She  addressed  the  Polish  ambassadors  in 
Latin,  and  was  never  so  majestic  or  so  beauti- 
ful. She  had  reason  to  triumph,  for  she  had 
laboured  for  this  result,  and  she  repaid  Anjou's 
parting  scowl  of  malignity  with  one  of  exultant 
disdain.  For  that  time  Anjou  was  foiled  and 
Marie  de  Cleves  and  the  Prince  de  Conde 
were  safe. 

But  Henri  of  Valois  was  not  to  remain  in 
exile  all  his  life.  Two  years  later  Charles  the 
IX.  was  slowly  dying.  His  remorse  was  a 
continual  reproach  to  Catherine  de'  Medici, 
and  it  was  rumoured  that  she  would  be  glad 
to  see  Anjou  on  the  throne. 


336  Renaissance  Chateaux 

Long  afterward  there  was  talk  of  a  book 
on  hawking  prepared  by  Rene,  the  perfumer, 
at  the  order  of  Catherine  de'  Medici,  with 
the  leaves  slightly  gummed  together  so  that 
the  reader  was  likely  to  moisten  his  finger 
to  turn  them.  This  book,  it  was  said,  had 
been  given  to  Henri  of  Navarre,  for  Vdnerie 
and  war  were  the  only  subjects  which  could 
compel  him  to  read,  but  Charles  had  found 
it  and,  fascinated,  had  read  it  to  the  end,  and 
though  his  mother  had  seen  the  book  in 
his  hand,  she  made  no  sign.  Foiled  in  this 
attempt  to  poison  the  King  of  Navarre,  the 
Queen  had  commanded  for  the  toilet  of 
his  mistress,  Madame  de  Sauve,  a  lip  salve 
which  would  have  made  one  kiss  certain 
death ;  but  Rene's  heart  had  failed  him  and 
the  cosmetic  sent  was  innocent. 

Perhaps  these  whispers  were  calumnies,  as 
well  as  the  bolder  report  that  Jeanne  d'Albret 
had  been  poisoned  by  a  pair  of  Rene's  per- 
fumed gloves.  Certainly,  the  mysterious  ap- 
paratus which  Rene  made  for  the  Princess 
Marguerite  was  a  harmless  plaything. 

She  had  a  notion  that  perfumes  might  be 
grouped  in  such  a  gamut  as  to  give  a  se- 
quence of  exquisite  sensations — as  it  were,  a 
symphony  of  odours.  The  mechanism  of  the 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        337 

instrument  which  she  invented  consisted  of 
rows  of  casting  bottles  or  phials  of  essences, 
and  of  small  bellows  which  shot  forth  powders. 
There  was  also  a  tiny  brazier  or  censer  of 
live  coals  on  which,  from  time  to  time,  was 
cast  such  incense  as  was  to  be  diffused  in 
fumes. 

With  this  ingenious  instrument,  having  first 
bandaged  the  eyes  of  such  as  would  give  them- 
selves up  to  the  illusion,  she  would  suggest 
different  experiences  to  the  accompaniment 
of  soft  music.  The  symphony  which  King 
Charles  liked  best  was  a  vivid  sense  picture  of 
a  hunt.  In  the  intervals  of  his  disease  Charles 
hunted  madly.  When  he  could  no  longer 
leave  his  room  he  had  it  hung  with  green 
boughs,  and  Marguerite,  with  the  help  of  the 
Princess  of  Conde  and  of  myself,  would  place 
the  table  holding  her  apparatus  beside  his  pil- 
low, and  together  we  would  give  a  mimic  rep- 
resentation of  the  scenes  he  loved.  In  the 
sprays  (aromatic  with  mints  and  blossoms) 
which  refreshed  his  fevered  face  he  felt  a<rain 

o 

the  forest  winds  with  their  woody  odours.  Ex- 
halations from  fragrant  shrubs  and  resinous 
pines  and  cedars  soothed  his  torn  lungs  with 
their  healing  balm.  His  horse's  hoofs  seemed 
to  strike  out  those  pungent  whiffs  of  spear- 


338  Renaissance  Chateaux 

mint  and  pennyroyal.  Tansy  brushed  his  face 
as  his  horse  leaped  that  wall.  There  was  haw- 
thorn in  that  thicket  where  a  thrush  was  sine:- 

O 

ing,  and  the  blossom  of  the  wild  grape  made 
breathing  once  more  an  ecstacy.  Now  he 
knew  by  the  salty  tang  in  the  deep  inspira- 
tions which  were  so  exhilarating  that  he  was 
riding  along  the  seashore.  Pure  oxygen  and 
other  gases  were  in  the  bladders  which  Mar- 
guerite pressed  so  carefully,  and  the  window 
had  been  opened  to  create  a  strong  draft. 
Now  there  was  a  repetition  of  the  woodland 
passage,  a  swampy  smell  of  moist  earth  and 
rotten  leaves  ;  down  in  the  court  a  huntsman 
wound  the  cor  de  c/iasse,  and  hallooed  joy- 
ously. There  was  a  quick  rataplan  of  gallop- 
ing hoofs,  strong  animal  scents,  horses,  dogs, 
the  boar  !  The  hounds  that  had  been  whining 

o 

uneasily  beside  their  master's  bed  recognised 
that  acrid  smell  and  leapt  up  with  tumultuous 
barking,  while  Charles  tore  the  bandage  from 
his  eyes  and  nearly  sprang  from  his  bed  in  his 
excitement,  to  see  the  dogs  worrying  an  un- 
tanned  hide  which  a  servant  had  been  beating 
near  the  window,  and  which  had  been  freshly 
torn  from  a  boar  killed  in  that  morning's  hunt. 

<z> 

On  Whitsunday,  May,  15/4,  the  poor  mad 
King  died.      His  old  Huguenot  nurse  who  was 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        339 

with  him  to  the  end  told  us  that  he  bemoaned 
piteously  that  he  had  ever  consented  to  the 
St.  Bartholomew,  saying  that  he  well  knew 
that  his  soul  was  lost.  She  had  striven  to 
comfort  him,  saying  :  "  Sir,  those  murders  be 
on  the  heads  of  those  who  made  you  commit 
them,  and  since  you  are  sorry  therefor  believe 
that  God  will  not  put  them  to  your  account." 

Catherine  de'  Medici  mourned  not  inordin- 
ately for  his  death,  but  despatched  a  swift  cour- 
ier to  Anjou  in  Poland  to  return  to  his 
kingdom.  It  was  time  that  he  came,  for  the 
monarchy  needed  a  strong  hand  at  its  helm 
and  the  war  of  the  Three  Henrys  was  at  hand. 
Little  by  little,  Henri  of  Guise  had  become 
the  popular  idol  of  the  Catholic  party  and  he 
was  soon  to  measure  his  strength  with  the 
King.  Royalty  represented  peace,  but  peace 
at  the  expense  of  tricks,  subterfuges,  lies — and 
the  Protestant  cause  was  not  totally  extin- 
guished. Damville  Montmorency  as  Governor 
of  Languedoc  had  done  much  to  restrain  the 
outbreak  of  war  and  the  Duke  de  Nevers  la- 
boured as  representative  of  the  King  to  main- 
tain peace.  Henri  of  Navarre  was  still  a  pris- 
oner, but  Alengon,  the  youngest  of  Catherine's 
sons,  was  plotting  with  the  Huguenots. 

The    Prince   de    Conde    had    recanted    his 


34°  Renaissance  Chateaux 

recantation,  asserting  that  it  was  obtained  from 
him  as  the  only  means  of  saving  his  life.  He 
had  fled  from  France,  and  was  in  full  revolt. 
From  England  to  Holland  and  thence  to  Ger- 
many he  dashed  in  a  series  of  wild  adven- 
tures, endeavouring  to  secure  foreign  aid  for 
the  Huguenots.  It  was  said  that  he  was  now 
about  to  invade  France  at  the  head  of  an  army 
of  reiters,  and  his  brother-in-law,  Guise,  was 
despatched  to  meet  him. 

His  wife  lay  very  ill  at  the  Hotel  de  Bour- 
bon. A  babe  had  just  been  born,  and  the 
mother's  life  fluttered  in  the  balance.  Her  two 
sisters,  Catherine  and  Henriette  de  Cleves, 
bent  over  her,  torn  with  anguish.  It  was  a 
strange  situation.  Three  sisters,  united  with 
tenderest  affection,  whose  husbands  repre- 
sented three  inimical  factions.  But  political 
cabals  and  even  differences  in  dogma  were 
forgotten  in  that  quiet  chamber.  A  little 
later  in  this  campaign  against  the  Prince 
de  Conde  the  Duke  of  Gfiise  was  to  receive 
the  slash  across  the  cheek  which  gave  him 
the  soubriquet  of  Le  Balafre,  which  his  father 
had  borne  before  him.  It  was  loner  since 

c> 

Marie  cle  Cleves  had  heard  from  her  hus- 
band, and  she  knew  nothing  of  the  new  situa- 
tion. The  scale  seemed  to  have  turned  in 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        341 

favour  of  life.  She  had  asked  Marguerite  to 
improvise  for  her  one  of  her  perfume  fantasias, 
and  the  Princess  had  given  her  a  pretty  caprice 
of  an  afternoon  in  the  garden  of  an  old  abbey, 
an  herbary  of  simples.  The  hot  sun  seemed 
to  bring  out  the  faint  fresh  smell  of  the  box 
which  bordered  the  parterres  of  rosemary,  saf- 
fron, and  rue  of  thyme,  angelica,  vervaine, 
marjolane,  anise,  lavender,  and  other  herbs 
medicinal,  which  the  monks  were  gathering  for 
the  infirmary.  Others  were  fabricating  liqueurs 
in  the  still-room,  and  appetizing  minty  flavours 
suggested  the  cordials  they  were  preparing. 
Then  in  the  refectory  the  steaming  viands  with 
their  strong  sauces  gave  a  contrast  of  coarse 
notes  which  made  the  fine  finer.  Out  through 
the  orchard,  faint  with  odours  of  peach  and 
almond  flowers,  we  seemed  to  wander  to  the 
garden  again,  where  the  humming  of  bees  and 
the  perfume  of  lilies  told  that  the  brothers 
were  gathering  flowers  for  the  altar,  and  to  the 
chiming  of  the  chapel  bells  a  procession  of 
choristers  were  passing  through  the  cloister, 
chanting  the  Ave  Maria. 

Marie  of  Cleves  looked  up  at  her  sisters  with 
a  bright  smile  :  "  Why,  it  is  the  old  Chateau 
garden  at  Nevers,  where  you,  Catherine, 
used  to  gather  flowers  for  the  altars  of  the 


342  Renaissance  Chateaux 

church.  I  can  see  you  as  you  looked  the  day 
Jean  Goujon  came,  with  your  arms  full  of  an- 
nunciation lilies  !  And  that  is  the  scent  of  the 
iris  !  How  I  have  longed  for  the  fleur  de  Us, 
but  I  have  not  dared  plant  them  here  for  they 
are  the  Bourbon  lilies,  and  I  feared  the  queen 
would  think  we  meant  to  flaunt  Henri's  emblem 
before  the  very  door  of  the  palace.  But  I  love 
them  the  more  because  they  are  his  flowers, 
and  have  longed  for  them  ever  since  I  came  to 
Paris." 

She  begged  Marguerite  to  leave  the  appara- 
tus, that  she  might  enjoy  a  repetition  of  the 
garden  fantasia.  Marguerite  warned  her  against 
allowing  any  one  else  to  manipulate  it,  for  there 
were  strong  poisons  in  the  subtle  odours.  The 
powder,  whose  burning  suggested  the  soup^on 
of  garlic  in  the  monk's  gross  fare,  was  arsenic, 
and  the  volatile  scent  of  peach  blossoms  was  a 
deadly  acid,  newly  come  from  Italy.  Marie's 
sisters  were  very  hopeful  for  her  that  day  ;  but 
the  next  she  received  two  letters.  One  was 
from  Anjou  (hereafter  to  be  known  as  Henri 
III.)  It  was  written  in  his  own  blood  on  the 
reception  of  the  news  of  his  brother's  death, 
and  assured  her  that  she  was  to  be  Queen  of 
France.  The  Pope  would  grant  her  a  divorce 
since  her  husband  was  now  a  relapsed  heretic* 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        343 

and  his  imagination  could  discern  no  possible 
objection  on  her  part. 

Catherine  de'  Medici  learned  with  alarm  that 
Henri  III.  had  sent  the  Princess  a  promise  of 
marriage,  and  she  visited  her  in  haste,  but  re- 
turned grimly  smiling.  Marie  of  Cleves  died 
that  nio-ht.  There  wanted  not  those  who  be- 

o 

lieved  her  poisoned  by  the  Queen  Mother. 

Chicot,  the  Court  jester,  was  singing  and  cut- 
ting mad  antics  in  the  court  as  I  entered  the 
Hotel  de  Bourbon,  on  hearing  of  her  death.  I 
reproached  him  for  his  heartlessness.  "  Wait 
till  you  have  heard  my  song,"  he  said.  "  T  is 
an  old  ballad  of  Saintonge  ;  it  has  nothing  to 
do  with  to-day." 

"  Le  Roi  a  fait  battre  tambour 

Pour  voir  toutes  ces  dames, 
Et  la  premiere  qu'il  a  vu* 
Lui  a  ravi  son  ame. 

"  La  Reine  a  fait  faire  un  bouquet 

De  blanches  fleurs  de  lyse 
Et  la  senteur  de  ce  bouquet 
A  fait  mourir  Marquise." 

The  sisters  of  the  Princess,  who  knew  of 
the  horror  with  which  the  news  of  the  coming 
of  Henri  of  Valois  inspired  her,  and  were 
aware  of  the  subtle  poisons  in  Marguerite's 
phials,  wondered  shudcleringly  whether  Marie's 


344  Renaissance  Chateaux 

own  hand  could  have  pressed  the  keys  which 
released  her  soul  on  the  wings  of  a  perfume. 
I  have  my  own  explanation.  Marie  de  Cleves 
could  have  borne  anything,  supported  by  the 
consciousness  of  her  husband's  faith  and  love. 
Philippe  Desportes,  who  had  written  the  love 
sonnets  which  the  Duke  of  Anjou  had  sent 
her,  had  done  worse.  To  amuse  his  mas- 
ter he  had  composed  a  vile  poem  on  their 
imaginary  amours.  It  was  widely  circulated 
in  manuscript.  Was  it  not  possible  that  it  had 
reached  the  Prince  de  Conde  ?  It  would  not 
have  been  out  of  character  for  Anjou  himself 
to  have  sent  it  to  him  anonymously.  The 
second  letter  which  Marie  de  Cleves  received 
on  the  day  in  which  she  died  was  from  her  hus- 
band. The  prince  was  hasty  and  passionate, 
he  little  knew  the  sensitiveness  and  devotion 
of  his  wife,  nor  was  he  aware  that  her  life  was 
then  at  stake.1  If  there  was  one  word  of  re- 


1  Le  Roux  de  Lincy,  in  his  Les  Femmes  Ct'lcbres  de  I'Ancienne 
France,  does  not  hesitate  to  assert  that  Marie  de  Cleves  died  poisoned 
at  the  age  of  eighteen  by  the  Queen  Mother. 

Henri  III.'s  public  mourning  was  a  profanation  and  an  insult, 
though  doubtless  the  sincerest  sentiment  of  his  life. 

Later,  on  the  death  of  the  Prince  de  Conde,  Henri  of  Navarre 
adopted  the  little  girl  born  to  such  an  heritage  of  woe. 

See  also  the  sonnets  written  for  the  Duke  of  Anjou  while  in  Poland 
by  Philippe  Desportes,  included  in  the  collection  of  the  latter's 
poems. 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        345 

proach  or  doubt  in  that  letter,  there  needed  no 
other  poison  to  sever  her  slight  hold  on  the 
•world.  Her  heart  was  broken  and  she  ceased 
to  live. 

II 

Ne  preche  plus  en  France  une  Evangile  arme'e 
Un  Christ  empristole  tout  noirci  de  fume'e 
Portant  un  rnorien  en  teste,  et  dans  la  main 
Un  large  coutelas  rouge  de  sang  humain. 

Henri  of  Navarre  had  been  held  a  virtual 
prisoner  at  the  French  Court,  but  he  had  be- 
haved with  such  prudence,  keeping  himself 
clear  of  all  plots,  and  especially  of  the  designs 
of  the  Reformed  party  for  him  to  escape  and  de- 
clare war,  that  Catherine  de'  Medici  could  in 
no  way  undermine  the  friendship  which  King 
Charles  cherished  for  him,  an  affection  far  be- 
yond that  which  he  felt  for  any  of  his  own 
family.  It  was  Marguerite  who  taught  her  hus- 
band how  to  thread  his  intricate  way,  and  who 
foiled  her  mother's  attempts  against  him.  He 
had  gained  her  friendship  from  their  wedding 
day,  for  he  had  told  her  that  he  blamed  her  not 
that  she  was  a  reluctant  bride,  well  knowing 
that  her  heart  was  already  bestowed  elsewhere. 
He  asked  her  only  to  be  a  true  comrade, 
politically  to  accept  his  interests  as  her  own, 


346  Renaissance  Chateaux 

to  make  common  cause  with  him  against  their 
common  enemies,  to  be  his  loyal  friend,  and 
to  allow  the  world  to  believe  that  they  were 
more.  In  return,  he  pledged  her  his  toleration 
of  whatever  course  she  chose  privately  to 
adopt,  and  his  defence  against  all  calumny. 
Her  marriage  should  be  no  slavery,  but  a  free- 
dom which  he  would  at  all  times  maintain  and 
upon  which  he  would  never  trespass.  The 
Princess  was  not  a  little  astonished  and  touched 
by  this  generous  attitude.  She  had  despised 
Henri  of  Navarre  as  a  bigot  and  a  narrow- 
minded  boor.  She  found  him  more  liberal 
and  possessed  of  greater  tact  than  many  an 
accomplished  man  of  the  world,  and  she  then 
and  there  made  the  great  mistake  of  her  life 
in  accepting  the  situation  of  mutual  indepen- 
dence, as  he  placed  it  before  her  with  frank- 
ness and  gratitude.  Each  kept  the  compact. 
Through  all  her  coquetries  and  worse,  Mar- 
guerite was  her  husband's  true  friend.  She 
thought  it  was  such  a  friendship  as  one  man 
might  give  another,  and  that  she  had  no  need 
of  his  love.  But  when  she  found  that  the 
Duke  of  Guise  had  never  deeply  loved  any 
one  but  himself,  when  little  by  little  her  eyes 
were  opened  to  the  sterling  worth  of  the  man 
she  had  undervalued,  she  grew  jealous  of  his 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        347 

infidelities  and  uncertain  of  temper  She 
fought  his  battles  more  passionately  than  ever, 
and  when,  on  the  death  of  Charles  and  the  ac- 
cession of  Anjou  as  Henri  III.,  life  at  the 
French  Court  became  intolerable  for  him,  she 
planned  the  hunting  party  at  Senlis,  from  which, 
in  1576,  he  escaped  to  Beam.  Then  she  found 
to  her  surprise  that  all  enjoyment  had  gone 
out  of  the  brilliancy  and  gayety  of  her  life. 
When  she  had  first  learned  of  the  misunder- 
standing which  had  separated  me  from  Charles 
de  la  Rochefoucauld,  who  had  retired  to  his 
ancestral  chateau  in  Angoumois,  she  endeav- 
oured to  console  me  by  the  assurance  that 
marriage  was  but  a  state  of  torment ;  but  if 
Marguerite  of  Valois  could  not  live  lovingly 
with  her  husband,  neither  could  she  live  happily 
without  him.  She  would  have  fled  with  him 
to  his  mountain  kingdom  had  that  been  pos- 
sible, and  from  the  time  that  he  escaped  she 
laboured  incessantly  to  join  him. 

At  last  it  was  evident,  both  to  the  Kino-  and 

o 

to  his  mentor,  Catherine  de'  Medici,  that  so 
long  as  Henri  of  Navarre  was  a  free  man  they 
were  in  danger,  for  his  white  plume  was  the 
rallying-point  of  all  that  was  left  of  Hugue- 
notrie,  and  if  the  religion  had  been  stamped  out 
of  Paris  by  the  St.  Bartholomew  it  was  not  so 


348  Renaissance  Chateaux 

in  the  provinces.  Therefore,  under  pretext 
of  acceding  to  her  earnest  desire — namely,  of 
taking  Marguerite  to  Navarre — the  Queen 
Mother  undertook  a  journey  through  the  south 
of  France.  Her  true  design  was  to  spy  what 
was  going  on  in  this  region,  and  to  induce 
Henri  to  return  to  Court. 

It  was  with  great  delight  that  I  found  my- 
self included  in  this  expedition.  We  were  to 
pass  through  Angoumois,  and  I  hoped  that  we 
might  be  entertained  at  the  chateau  of  La 

o 

Rochefoucauld,  but  in  this  I  was  disappointed, 
for  the  memory  of  the  murder  of  the  head  of 
the  house  was  too  recent. 

Catherine  had  taken  Madame  de  Sauve  with 
her,  hoping,  if  Marguerite  failed  to  wile 
Henri  back  to  Paris,  that  the  prettiest  woman 
in  her  escadron  volant  might  be  more  success- 
ful. What  was  Catherine's  vexation  to  find 
that,  though  the  King  of  Navarre  had  not  been 
insensible  to  the  charms  of  Madame  de  Sauve 
while  he  was  a  prisoner  at  the  Louvre,  she  had 
lost  whatever  attraction  she  had  ever  possessed 
for  his  susceptible  but  fickle  fancy,  and  that 
he  was  never  so  nearly  in  love  with  his  wife. 
Absence  had  been  good  for  them  both.  Mar- 
guerite was  at  the  most  fascinating  period  of 
her  life  ;  bubbling  over  with  good  spirits,  she 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        349 

delighted  and  bewitched  every  one  with  her 
merry  jests.  Her  conversation  had  always 
flashed  with  witticisms  and  badinage.  Now 
she  was  not  only  piquant,  but  tender ;  all  the 
passion  of  her  nature  had  turned  at  last  toward 
her  husband,  and  he  found  her  irresistibly 
charming.  Henri  organized  fetes  and  hunting 
excursions  and  led  his  guests  from  Nerac  to 
Pau  and  from  Pau  to  Foix,  entertaining  us 
with  the  most  lavish  hospitality.  Even  now 
the  memory  of  those  long  rides  and  walks  in  the 
invigorating  mountain  air,  in  the  midst  of  the 
most  picturesque  and  noble  scenery,  brings  a 
thrill  to  my  imagination,  as  it  did  then  to  my 
physical  senses. 

It  was  not  a  part  of  the  Queen  Mother's 
plan  that  the  husband  and  wife  should  become 
truly  united,  and  she  attempted  to  sow  dissen- 
sion between  them.  Above  all  things,  she  was 
surprised  and  enraged  to  find  that  Marguerite, 
instead  of  seducing  Henri  to  return  to  slavery, 
was  herself  captivated  by  this  wild  free  life, 
and  desired  nothing  more  ardently  than  to  re- 
main in  Navarre  with  him. 

"  Marguerite  will  soon  tire  of  these  bleak 
mountains,"  she  said  to  Madame  de  Sauve. 
"  It  is  all  very  well  in  fine  weather,  but  wait 
till  the  storms  of  winter  howl  around  the 


35°  Renaissance  Chateaux 

towers  of  Pail ;  then  she  will  be  homesick 
enough  for  the  luxury  of  the  Louvre  and 
Court  society." 

So  Catherine  lingered  month  after  month, 
only  to  see  Marguerite  and  Henri  more  and 
more  content  writh  each  other,  and  to  be  out- 
witted at  every  point,  whether  in  diplomacy  or 
in  the  irregular  skirmishing  which  the  follow- 
ers of  both  sides  kept  up  while  negotiations 
were  pending.  A  Calvinist  captain  was  per- 
suaded by  Anne  of  Aquaviva,  one  of  Cathe- 
rine's flying  squadron,  to  betray  the  fortress  of 
La  Reole.  Henri  heard  of  this  while  giving 
Catherine  a  ball  at  Auch,  and,  slipping  from 
the  festival  with  a  few  trusty  followers,  he  esca- 
laded  the  stronghold  of  Fleurance.  It  was 
diamond  cut  diamond,  fetes  and  Gallantries  on 

c!> 

the  surface  and  intrigues  and  treason  beneath 
—a    strange    existence,    in    which    a    lover's 
rendezvous  was  likely  to  mean  the  assassin's 
poniard. 

In  February,  Catherine  de'  Medici  signed  a 
peace  which  gave  eleven  cities  to  the  King  of 
Navarre  and  returned  baffled  to  Paris.  No 
one  regretted  her  departure.  For  a  time  Mar- 
guerite and  Henri  lived  in  the  greatest  har- 
mony in  the  old  chateau  of  the  d'Albret's  at 
Nerac.  This  stronghold  of  the  counts  of 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        351 

Beam  overhung  the  little  river  Baise  with  whose 
right  bank  it  was  connected  by  a  long  stone 
bridge.  The  town  of  Nerac  clustered  closely 
around  the  castle  walls  on  the  left,  but  the 
bank  of  the  river  opposite  the  castle  was  all  a 
wild  park  blending  into  an  ancient  forest  which 
stretched  away  for  miles,  the  royal  domain 
ending  at  last  at  the  castle  of  Nazareth,  the 
home  of  a  commandery  of  the  Templars.  This 
park  was  called  the  Garenne  or  rabbit  warren, 
and  had  only  been  utilised  by  Henri  for  hunting, 
but  Marguerite  was  charmed  with  its  possibil- 
ities and  under  her  planning  a  beautiful  garden 
was  laid  out,  adorned  with  statues  and  foun- 
tains, with  bath  and  boat  houses  along  the  river, 
and  the  long  avenues  of  superb  chestnuts  were 
bordered  by  beds  of  matted  violets  and  myrtle. 
The  deer  were  no  longer  slaughtered  but  were 
made  pets  ;  swans  glided  in  the  waters  and 
white  peacocks  flaunted  the  symbol  of  Navarre 
upon  the  balustrades.  In  the  midst  of  this 
wood  Henri  built  for  his  wife  a  little  chapel 
where  her  suite  could  hear  mass.  But  their 
difference  of  religion  created  no  discord.  The 
King  and  his  gentlemen  attended  the  sermon 
at  the  Calvinistic  church  in  the  town  while  we 
were  at  devotion,  and  afterward  they  met  us 
in  the  laurel  and  cypress  alties,  where  our 


352  Renaissance  Chateaux 

disquisitions  were  by  no  means  theological. 
In  the  evening  there  was  always  music  and 
dancing,  with  gaming,  feasting,  and  drinking 
for  those  who  preferred  such  gross  enjoy- 
ments. It  was  not  the  first  brilliant  queen  and 
court  which  Nerac  had  seen.  It  had  been  liter- 
ary under  Henri's  grandmother,  the  talented 
Marguerite  d'Angouleme,  sister  of  Francis  I., 
religious  under  his  mother,  the  fervid  Jeanne 
d'Albret,  and  now  it  was  to  be  wholly  given 
to  pleasure. 

It  is  thus  that  I  love  to  think  of  my  princess, 
for  it  was  so  I  left  her  after  my  marriage  to 
Charles  de  la  Rochefoucauld  in  her  little 
chapel  in  the  park.  It  was  Marguerite  who 
induced  him  to  visit  Nerac,  where  at  last  all 
misunderstandings  were  cleared  away,  and  we 
understood  that  we  had  long  loved  each 
other  not  in  pretence  alone  but  in  very  truth. 
The  conditions  of  King  Charles's  grant  being 
now  fulfilled,  we  left  the  pleasant  Court  of 
Nerac  to  take  possession  of  our  new  home,  the 
chateau  of  Randan  in  Auvergne.  It  was  an  old 
chateau  of  the  Polignacs,  built  of  grey  volcanic 
rock.  All  along  our  wedding  journey  we  saw 
scoriae  and  lava  and  cinders,  the  ashes  of  fierce 
elemental  fires  cooled  now  by  the  snows  of 
centuries  and  nourishing  wild  flowers  in  their 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        353 

fissures,  and  they  seemed  to  us  a  promise  of 
the  healing  of  human  scars.  The  Duke  of 
Guise  sent  us  as  a  wedding  present,  two  great 
stone  lions  slaying  serpents,  and  we  placed  them 
on  either  side  of  the  chateau  gate.  Charles  in- 
terpreted the  gift  as  a  recognition  of  his  own 
services  in  the  League.  It  may  have  been  so  in 
part,  but  I  noted  that  one  of  the  great  animals 
was  a  lioness  and  I  remembered  how  the  Duke 
preferred  to  call  me  Fulvie  and  praised  me  be- 
cause I  had  scotched  that  serpent  Anjou.  We 
had  no  serpent  in  our  paradise  at  Randan.  I 
knew  there  would  be  none  when  I  first  rode 
through  the  gates.  The  rooks  were  circling 
high  and  cawing  joyously,  in  welcome  as  it 
seemed  to  me,  and  the  primroses  had  escaped 
the  borders,  making  my  path  literally  one  of 
flowers. 

If  only  Marguerite's  marriage  could  have 
been  crowned  by  the  love  and  loyalty  which  has 
blessed  my  own !  If  Henri  could  have  given 
his  wife  the  love  she  craved,  as  well  as  his 
appreciation  of  her  talents  (which  Catherine 
declared  were  a  direct  refutation  of  the  Salic 
law)  ;  if  Marguerite  had  earlier  arrived  at  the 
estimation  of  her  husband  in  which  she  after- 
ward held  him,  what  might  not  these  two  have 
been  to  one  another  ?  How  might  they  not 


354  Renaissance  Chateaux 

have  hallowed  marriage  in  the  eyes  of  their 
countrymen  instead  of  breaking  down  its  for- 
tress walls  by  their  example  ? — an  example  all 
the  more  mischievous  because  these  two  were 
better  loved  for  their  noble  qualities  than  any 
king  and  queen  who  ever  reigned  in  France. 
It  was  at  Pau  that  their  easy  tolerance  of  each 
other's  levity  was  first  strained.  Marguerite 
hated  Pau  as  much  as  she  loved  Nerac,  not  be- 
cause her  mother's  prophecy  had  come  true 
and  the  lonely  mountain  fortress  was  insup- 
portable on  account  of  her  craving  for  gay 
society,  nor  was  the  excuse  which  she  always 
gave — the  bigotry  of  the  inhabitants  and  their 
intolerance  of  her  religion — the  true  reason. 
The  chateau  of  Corisandre  d'Andouin,  Coun- 
tess of  Grammont,  was  at  a  too  convenient 
distance  from  Pau.  At  last  Marguerite  was 
wildly  jealous,  as  she  had  good  cause  to  be, 
for  Henri  had  promised 

"  —  amour  sans  Jin 

A  la  plus  belle,  a  la  plus  tendre  ! 

A  Corisandre 

D'Andouin." 

They  returned  to  Nerac  but  not  to  the  old 
days  of  affection,  for  the  King  was  now  infatu- 
ated with  Mademoiselle  de  Montmorency,  to 
whom  he  gave  the  name  of  Dimple  Chin  (La 


CHATEAU  OF  PAU. 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        355 

Fosseuse).  Then  Marguerite  took  the  fatal 
step  of  repaying  his  gallantries  in  kind  and  of 
showing  her  husband  that  there  were  others 
who  found  her  fascinating  if  he  did  not.  When 
this  state  of  affairs  became  unbearable  Mar- 
guerite returned  to  Paris  only  to  find  in  Henri 
III.  a  more  cruel  and  dastardly  malignity  than 
he  had  shown  to  his  sister  when  Duke  of 
Anjou.  Even  her  husband,  though  he  had 
lost  his  love  for  her,  could  not  coldly  suffer 
the  affronts  which  he  chivalrously  asserted  that 
he  shared  when  his  wife  was  traduced.  He 
recalled  Marguerite  and  summoned  the  King 
of  France  to  retract  his  charges. 

Henri  de  Navarre  had  compelled  the  respect 
of  Europe  in  the  taking  of  Cahors,  that  five 
days'  fight  within  the  town,  when  the  inhabit- 
ants climbed  like  cats  from  roof  to  roof,  making 

o 

of  every  house  a  citadel  and  crowning  their 
own  valour  with  as  great  honour  as  Henri's 
persistence.  Henri  III.  gave  grudgingly  the 
apology  demanded,  knowing  that  his  refusal 
would  mean  war.  But  Marguerite  found  on 
her  return  to  her  husband  that  though  he  de- 
fended her  he  no  longer  believed  in  her.  Their 
life  together  had  become  intolerable,  and  Mar- 
guerite fled  to  Agen.  When  her  husband 
threatened  to  besiege  the  city  the  inhabitants 


356  Renaissance  Chateaux 

begged  her  to  leave,  and  she  sought  refuge  in 
a  castle  belonging  to  her  mother  in  Cantal. 

It  was  then  that  Canillac,  governor  of  Au- 
vergne,  offered  to  place  her  own  dower  chateau 
of  Usson  at  her  disposal.  Usson  was  one  of 
the  strongest  fortresses  in  France.  It  crowned 
an  almost  inaccessible  mountain,  and  was  sur- 
rounded by  triple  walls,  so  that  from  a  dis- 
tance it  resembled  a  papal  tiara.  Above  all 
towered  the  castle.  Du  Guesclin,  whose  par- 
ticular forte  had  been  the  escalading  of  castles, 
had  besieged  it  in  vain. 

It  seemed  to  the  poor  homeless  Queen  a  re- 
fuge provided  by  Heaven,  and  she  at  once  fell 
into  the  trap,  for  Canillac  had  only  intended 
to  curry  favour  with  Henri  de  Navarre,  and 
sent  him  word  that  he  held  his  wife  a  prisoner 
and  would  return  her  to  him. 

Henri  replied  that  this  was  the  last  thing 
that  he  desired.  If  Canillac  wished  to  pleas- 
ure him,  he  would  see  to  it  that  Marguerite 
remained  where  she  was. 

Something    of    all    this    had    come    to  us 

o 

through  rumour  at  our  chateau  of  Randan. 
We  were  only  some  thirty  miles  distant  from 
Usson  as  the  crow  flies,  though  half  as  far 
again  by  the  road  that  followed  the  windings 
of  the  Allier.  I  often  thought  of  Marguerite 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        357 

in  her  mountain  prison  as  I  afterwards  knew 
that  she  thought  of  me,  but  my  husband  had 
all  that  he  could  do  in  his  service  of  the 
Duke  of  Guise,  being  the  head  centre  of  the 
League  for  Auvergne.  Plots  were  thickening 
and  we  knew  that  sooner  or  later  war  would  be 
declared. 

I  think  I  was  never  more  astonished  in 
my  life  than  one  morning  to  see  at  the 
grille  of  my  chateau  a  strange  procession,  a 
part,  it  would  seem,  of  some  Oriental  caravan. 
For  first  a  swarthy  Bedouin  in  white  turban 
and  floating  burnous,  with  a  long  rifle  across 
his  saddle  bow,  rang  the  bell,  and  when  the 
porter  opened  there  paced  solemnly  and  slowly 
between  the  stone  lions  and  up  to  the  chateau 
door  a  camel  bearing  camp  equipage,  then 
another  with  a  bevy  of  laughing  Eastern  beau- 
ties under  a  gaily  striped  canopy,  and  finally  a 
white  dromedary  with  crimson  trappings  led 
by  two  Nubian  slaves  and  on  the  throne  be- 
tween its  humps,  a  princess  sheltered  from  the 
sun  by  a  great  parasol  of  rose-coloured  silk 
fringed  with  silver.  The  princess  was  gorg- 
eously dressed  in  Algerian  fashion  with  a  pro- 
fusion of  sequin  necklaces,  bangles,  and  armlets, 
and  a  veil  of  the  finest  gauze  shot  with  gold 
thread  disguised  her  features.  The  ladies  who 


Renaissance  Chateaux 


had  preceded  her  began  to  play  on  strange 
Oriental  instruments  as  the  slaves  of  the  prin- 
cess made  the  dromedary  kneel  and  assisted 
their  mistress  to  alight. 

I  stared  at  her  in  astonishment  which  was 
only  changed  in  kind  not  lessened  in  degree 
when  the  strange  lady  threw  aside  her  veil  and 
burst  into  an  immoderate  peal  of  laughter. 
She  was  indeed  a  princess,  my  own  dear  prin- 
cess Marguerite.  She  told  me  how  she  had 
intrigued  her  jailer,  Governor  Canillac,  coquet- 
ting with  him,  until,  insanely  in  love,  he  in  turn 
became  her  dupe. 

"  The  fool  believed  me,"  she  laughed,  "  when 
I  promised  to  institute  proceedings  for  a  di- 
vorce. I  sent  him  off  to  Paris  with  a  letter  to 
Monsieur  Hennequin,  president  of  parliament, 
giving  Canillac  the  Hotel  de  Navarre.  I  have 
only  two  servants  whom  I  can  trust.  One  is 
my  faithful  maid  Gillonne,  the  other  a  young 
page,  whom  I  despatched  to  Hennequin  in 
advance  with  private  instructions  that  it  was 
all  a  hoax.  Of  course  Canillac  noticed  the  dis- 
appearance of  my  page  before  he  set  out,  but 
I  pretended  that  he  had  run  away  with  some 
of  my  jewels.  He  was  half  suspicious  and  left 
orders  for  me  to  be  strictly  guarded  in  his 
absence,  but  this  band  of  Orientals  came  along 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        359 

in  the  nick  of  time  and  were  admitted  to  the 
castle  to  amuse  me.  Gillonne  is  pretending 
now  that  I  am  sick,  and  confined  to  my  room. 
She  helped  me  to  stain  my  skin  and  to  dis. 
guise  myself.  A  little  money  bribed  these 
Arabs  to  bring  me  to  you,  and  no  one  recog- 
nised me  as  I  passed  out." 

"  And  you  will  remain  with  me,  dear  lady  ?" 
I  cried,  overjoyed. 

"  No,  Sylvie,  but  I  know  that  your  husband 
is  in  communication  with  the  Duke  of  Guise, 
that  he  is  his  lieutenant  for  Auvergne.  You 
must  help  me  in  your  old  way,  by  being  my 
little  carrier-pigeon.  I  will  write  a  letter  here 
which  you  must  get  to  the  Duke  immediately. 
Nay,  look  not  so  troubled,  't  is  no  love  missive. 
My  dear  brother  Henri  lied  when  he  wrote  my 
husband  during  my  late  visit  to  Paris  that  I 
was  scandalising  everyone  by  a  liaison  with  the 
Duke.  This  letter  is  a  political  one.  I  de- 
clare my  independence  at  once  of  my  brother 
and  my  husband,  and,  proposing  to  hold  my 
fortress  of  Usson  for  the  League,  I  desire  the 
Duke  of  Guise  to  send  me  a  garrison  with 
which  I  can  defy  all  comers. 

"Hurrah!"  I  cried.  "A  swift  courier 
shall  set  out  at  once  to  Orleans,  where  my 
husband  has  gone  to  confer  with  the  Duke, 


360  Renaissance  Chateaux 

and  you  shall  stay  here  until  we  have  his 
answer."  It  came  speedily,  Charles  galloping 
back  with  three  companies  of  Leaguers,  sent 
with  the  duty  of  the  Duke  of  Guise. 

We  rode  back  together  to  Usson,  for  my 
husband  approved  of  my  desire  to  return  the 
visit,  and  the  scanty  guard  which  Canillac  had 
left  could  not  believe  their  senses  when  they 
were  called  upon  to  open  their  gates  to  a  little 
army,  at  whose  head  was  the  Queen  of  Navarre, 
whom  they  had  believed  that  they  held  securely 
in  one  of  the  towers  of  the  castle. 

Equally  disconcerted  was  Canillac  when  he 
came  back  from  his  fool's  errand  and  learned 
from  his  servants,  who  had  been  turned  out  of 
the  castle,  that  it  was  well  garrisoned  and 
munitioned,  and  that  Marguerite  was  its  mis- 
tress. The  Duke  of  Guise  also  sent  him  a 
letter,  telling  him  to  beware  how  he  attacked  or 
annoyed  her  in  any  way,  for  she  was  "  the 
most  triumphant  princess  in  Christendom." 
So  Canillac  turned  shamefacedly  from  Usson, 
the  laughing  stock  of  everyone. 

We  heard  that  even  Henri  de  Navarre  when 
he  heard  of  it  smote  his  thigh  and  cried : 
"  Well  played,  M argot !  Venire  St.  Gris  !  I 
could  love  thee  well  if  all  thy  escapades  had 
been  of  as  merry  a  character  !  " 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        361 

For  eighteen  years  Marguerite  lived  in  the 
lonely  fortress  of  Usson,  occupying  herself 
chiefly  with  writing  her  memoirs  and  with 
music.  Sometimes  she  was  in  great  straits  for 
money.  She  sold  her  jewels,  and  her  sister-in- 
law,  Elizabeth,  the  widow  of  Charles  IX.,  who 
had  returned  to  Austria,  sent  her  funds,  but  in 
spite  of  that  she  contracted  debts,  for  such  an 
establishment  necessitated  a  great  train  of  serv- 
ants, and  she  was  extravagant  in  her  gener- 
osity, even  when  she  had  nothing  to  give.  Her 
mother's  estimate  had  been  a  true  one.  Mar- 
guerite was  suited  to  city  life,  and  the  castle, 
which  at  first  seemed  a  refuge,  grew  to  be  a 
tedious  prison.  She  never  gave  up  her  hope 
of  returning  to  Paris,  and  on  one  of  my  visits 
I  surprised  her  reading  her  Latin  Bible. 

"  Sylvie,"  she  said,  "  I  have  just  made  the 
vow  of  Jacob."  And  when  I,  being  more  con- 
versant with  pagan  literature  than  with  the 
sacred  writings,  asked  what  that  might  be,  she 
read  me  how  the  patriarch,  in  like  trouble,  had 
sworn  that  if  God  would  keep  him  in  safety  and 
give  him  bread  to  eat  and  raiment  to  put  on, 
and,  moreover,  bring  him  to  his  father's  house 
in  peace,  then  he  would  give  the  Lord  one 
tenth  of  all  he  possessed  and  build  him  a 
house,  or,  as  we  would  say,  a  chapel.  Many 


362  Renaissance  Chateaux 

people  make  such  vows  readily  enough  when 
they  are  in  trouble,  but  Marguerite  kept  hers 
scrupulously,  and  the  manner  of  its  fulfilment 
I  shall  tell  you. 

We  heard  but  a  confused  rumour  of  the 
progress  of  events  ;  how  the  League  grew  in 
power  until  Henri  III.  came  to  fear  Henri  of 
Guise  and  to  suspect  him  of  designs  for  mak- 
ing himself  king.  They  say  that  he  was 
plotting  with  Philip  II.  of  Spain  and  with  the 
Pope  for  this.  It  may  be  true,  for  Guise's 
ambition  was  without  bounds.  Nevertheless, 
when  we  knew  of  the  treachery  with  which 
King  Henri  pretended  to  grant  him  his  con- 
fidence and  favour,  and  then  caused  him  to 
be  stabbed  to  death  by  his  minions  in  his  own 
bedroom  in  the  royal  chateau  of  Blois,  our 
hearts  stood  still  with  horror.  Marguerite  had 
no  word  of  blame  when  the  sister  of  the  mur- 
dered man  took  up  the  vendetta  and  Henri 
III.  fell  under  the  dagger  of  an  assassin.  It 
was  a  chain  of  vengeance,  in  which  each  link 
was  a  dagger.  Marguerite  was  never  the  same 
after  this.  I  think  a  spring  snapped  some- 
where in  her  brain,  for  she  uttered  no  word  of 
sorrow  for  the  Duke,  and  she  grew  giddier  and 
more  erratic  with  advancing  years.  She  had 
lost  all  sense  of  proportion  ;  trifling  matters 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        363 

were  exaggerated  and  great  issues  seemed  to 
her  small.  But  sometimes  in  the  midst  of  her 
absurdities  a  sudden  ray  of  her  old  good  sense 
or  good  humour  would  illuminate  her  conduct, 
and  never  did  she  lose  her  kindliness  of  heart. 
We  comforted  each  other  in  many  a  black 
hour.  Together  from  the  ramparts  of  Usson 
we  watched  the  battle  of  Clos  Roland,  where 
my  dear  husband,  Charles  de  la  Rochefoucauld, 
Count  of  Randan,  was  slain,  and  she  held  me 
in  her  arms  in  that  hour  of  intolerable  anguish. 
Nor  did  we  know  that,  almost  at  that  very  mo- 
ment, Henry  of  Navarre  had  gained  the  field 
of  Ivry,  that  everywhere  the  League  was 
broken,  and  his  ultimate  triumph  secure. 

In  spite  of  her  inconsistencies  of  conduct, 
she  had  watched  the  career  of  her  husband 
through  his  long  battling  from  Cahors  to 
Ivry  with  a  childish  enthusiasm,  asserting,  as 
did  many  another  who  knew  him  well,  that 
he  was  the  greatest  king  that  ever  girt  on 
sword.  It  was  lonq;  before  she  could  under- 

o 

stand  that  he  was  lost  to  her,  and  she  spoke 
of  him  habitually  as  "  Harry,  my  King." 
When  at  last  she  comprehended  that  by  her 
own  stupendous  folly  in  accepting,  at  the 
beginning  of  their  wedded  life  the  agreement 
to  mutual  liberty,  she  had  lost  his  respect 


364  Renaissance  Chateaux 

and  love,  thus  making  it  impossible  for  her 
to  share  his  victory,  and  in  giving  him  war- 
rant and  example  for  the  license  of  his  life 
she  was  in  part  responsible  for  it — then  her 
punishment  was  indeed  fully  equal  to  her 
deserving. 

At  first  she  passionately  refused  to  consent 
to  her  divorce,  but  when  it  was  made  clear 
to  her  that  only  so  could  the  dynasty  be 
preserved  and  the  dignity  and  happiness  of 
the  King  assured,  she  showed  herself,  as  so 
often  before,  the  King's  unselfish,  loyal  friend, 
and  gave  her  consent  in  a  letter  which  he  could 
never  read  without  tears. 

"  I  leave  all  to  your  goodness,"  she  wrote  ;  "  asking 
your  Majesty  only  to  preserve  to  me  that  which  1  prefer 
always  to  all  other  wealth  or  felicity,  the  honor  of  your 
friendship,  without  which  my  life  would  be  inconsolable 
and  would  only  be  preserved  to  bear  witness  to  the  very 
humble  and  faithful  service  which  I  owe  and  vow  to  you 
to  all  eternity. 

"  Kissing  very  humbly  the  hands  of  your  Majesty,  and 
praying  God  to  give  my  lord  entire  and  perfect  felicity, 
"  your  very  humble  and  obedient  servant,  wife,  and 
subject,  MARGUERITE." 

On  the  receipt  of  this  letter  Henry  of  Na- 
varre paid  all  of  Marguerite's  debts,  conferred 
upon  her  a  liberal  pension,  and  declared  her 
at  liberty.  She  hastened  to  Paris  and  took 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        365 

up  her  temporary  residence  in  the  Hotel  de 
Sens.  But  she  was  looking  for  a  suitable 
estate  in  which  to  establish  herself  perman- 
ently, and  she  found  it  in  the  strip  of  land  on 
the  left  bank  of  the  Seine  extending  between 
the  Tour  de  Nesle  and  the  Pre  aux  Clercs, 
and  bordering  on  the  south  on  the  domain 
of  the  Abbey  of  St.  Germain  des  Pres. 

Here  she  laid  out  gardens  and  erected  a 
little  palace  and  a  chapel,  the  latter  in  fulfil- 
ment of  her  vow,  and  she  named  the  street 
which  divided  her  gardens  from  those  of  the 
Abbey  of  St.  Germain  the  Rue  Jacob  (see 
Note  4,  Appendix).  The  town  house  of  the 
de  la  Rochefoucaulds  joined  the  Tour  de 
Nesle  and  fronted  Marguerite's  eastern  bound- 

o 

aries,  so  when  I  visited  Paris  I  was  her 
nearest  neighbour.  She  attracted  a  coterie  of 
artists  and  literary  men,  and  her  soirees  were 
the  most  brilliant,  intellectually,  in  Paris.  It 
maddened  me  that  there  were  among  the 
younger  courtiers  certain  empty-headed  fools 
who  made  sport  of  my  dear  Princess,  because, 
forsooth,  being  long  debarred  society,  she  could 
not  deny  herself  coquetry ;  nor  could  she 
realise  the  change  that  age  and  trouble  had 
wrought  in  her  beauty,  but  dressed  in  the 
manner  which  Brantome  had  found  so  divine, 


366  Renaissance  Chateaux 

striving  to  hide  her  wrinkles  with  cosmetics 
and  her  grey  hair  with  frizzled  wigs  and 
feathers.  They  called  her  a  frump  and  a 
scarecrow,  a  woman  half  insane,  who  had  no 
judgment  of  what  was  seemly  to  her  years  in 
dress  or  in  conduct,  and  though  I  cannot  deny 
that  this  was  true,  yet  I  loved  my  dear  Princess 
in  these  lamentable  ruins  more  than  I  had 
loved  her  in  the  heyday  of  her  beauty.  For 
her  courage  and  high  spirit  never  deserted 
her,  though  sometimes  her  temper  was  but 
short.  I  saw  an  evidence  of  this  in  her  deal- 
ing with  the  Barefooted  Carmelites ;  for,  hav- 
ing called  them  to  serve  at  her  chapel  with  an 
ample  compensation,  under  condition  that  they 
should  chant  choir  music  of  her  arranging,  they 
affronted  both  her  authority  and  her  con- 
noisseurship  by  opposing  their  own  ignorant 
notions  of  psalmody  to  her  more  cultivated 
taste,  she  promptly  ejected  them  and  estab- 
lished in  their  place  the  Petits  Augustins. 

About  the  same  time  she  came  under  the 
influence  of  a  young  priest  whose  like  I  have 
never  known,  and  the  closing  years  of  her 
life  received  a  touch  of  grace,  the  impetuous 
heart  finding  at  last  a  beneficent  outlet  for 
its  generous  impulses  which  had  been  so  mis- 
directed in  the  past.  Vincent  de  Paul  was 


RESIDENCE  OF    MARGUERITE   DE  VALOIS  (NOW  THE 
ECOLE  DES  BEAUX  ARTS). 

FROM   "  L'AMI   DES  MONUMENTS   " 

(By  permission  of  Charles  Normand.) 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        367 

called  visionary,  a  saintly  enthusiast,  but  he 
was  a  philanthropist  such  as  the  world  has 
seldom  seen,  and  of  which  our  age  was  not 
worthy.  His  heart  was  stirred  to  its  depths 
by  the  unutterable  miseries  of  our  city.  It 
was  the  day  after  the  christening  of  the 
Dauphin  that  Marguerite  had  her  first  serious 
conversation  with  him.  Disgusted  with  her 
own  past,  despairing  of  her  future,  she  be- 
sought him  to  quicken  her  faith  in  the  mercy 
of  Christ.  "  You  have  believed  too  much,"  he 
said,  gravely,  "counting  on  claiming  His  limit- 
less forgiveness  upon  your  death-bed.  I  cannot 
gainsay  it,  God's  Word  standeth  sure ;  but 
if  you  would  not  go  still  more  shamed  into 
His  presence,  I  beg  you  to  concern  yourself 
somewhat  with  this  world." 

"What  can  I  do  with  these  ruined  years?" 
she  asked  bitterly.  "  Shall  I  enter  a  convent  ? 
God  made  me  for  love  and  for  the  clinoqncr 

o        & 

arms  of  children.  Why  did  He  leave  me  child- 
less ?  If  I  had  borne  him  a  son  Henriot  would 
have  forgiven  me." 

"  I  also  will  ask  you  a  question  which  has 
troubled  me,"  Vincent  replied.  "  Thousands 
of  children  each  year  die  in  the  streets  of 
Paris.  Why  did  God  leave  them  fatherless 
and  motherless?" 


368  Renaissance  Chateaux 

"  That  is  a  harder  question  than  mine,"  she 
replied. 

"Is  it  not  an  answer  to  yours?"  he  asked 
gently.  "  No  woman  need  call  herself  child- 
less while  these  little  ones,  abandoned  by  their 
mothers  according  to  nature,  beg  for  mothers 
according  to  grace.  Let  the  streets  of  the  city 
be  your  cloister.  Find  in  some  wretched  hovel 
the  babe  meant  for  your  heart." 

"  Would  you  have  me  adopt  a  child  of  the 
street  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Not  one,  dear  Madame,  but  many.  Scores 
of  little  lives  could  be  saved,  scores  of  children 
brought  up  to  lives  of  happiness  through  the 
largess  you  lavish  on  your  animal  pets.  Could 
I  have  the  placing  of  the  revenues  which  your 
brother,  the  late  Henri  III.,  squandered  on 
little  dogs,  monkeys,  and  birds,  no  child  in 
Paris  need  lack  bread  for  an  hundred  years." 

His  words  were  daring,  but  Marguerite  ac- 
knowledged their  truth  and,  admiring  his  frank- 
ness, made  him  her  almoner.  She  was  his  first 
patroness,  but  from  that  time  none  called  Vin- 
cent de  Paul  impractical.  Ably  seconded  by 
her  he  began  to  preach  the  religion  of  humanity 
and  to  organise  his  great  work  among  unclois- 
tered  worldly  women  of  rank  and  of  fashion, 
forming  leagues  and  founding  institutions 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        369 

whose  benefits  to  the  helped  and  the  helpers 
none  can  calculate. 

My  own  life  has  been  blessed  beyond  desert, 
for  though  my  dear  husband  was  snatched  from 
me  by  a  violent  death  such  as  it  seemed  ever}' 
man  of  courage  must  die  in  those  cruel  days, 
yet  can  I  look  back  upon  ten  of  such  happy 
years  of  wedded  felicity  that  all  my  evening  is 
brightened  by  the  afterglow. 

Somewhere  in  the  Elysian  Fields,  which  we 
moderns  call  heaven,  he  is  scanning  the  faces 
of  the  newly  come,  looking  for  me,  and  I  shall 
not  shrink  from  the  summons  of  the  grim  ferry- 
man to  go  to  my  beloved.  Meantime,  my  child- 
ren are  my  comfort  and  my  hope,  as  I  see 
opening  before  them  futures  of  usefulness  and 
peace. 

We  live  quietly  on  our  estate  in  Auvergne, 
occupied  with  simple  country  cares  and  pleas- 
ures. My  grandchildren  fill  the  rooms  of 
Chateau  Randan  with  their  joyous  prattle,  and 
romp  about  me  through  the  avenues  of  the  old 
forest.  It  is  said  that  when  Dante  walked  in 
Florence  the  common  people,  who  believed 
that  his  Inferno  was  the  record  of  a  personal 
experience,  pointed  to  him,  saying :  "  There 
goes  a  man  whose  beard  was  singed  in  hell ! " 
They  spoke  more  truly  than  they  knew,  for  his 


3/o  Renaissance  Chateaux 

heart  was  surely  seared  by  its  fires  since  he 
could  condemn  Virgil  and  all  believers  in  the 
pagan  gods  to  that  hopeless  place.  We  have 
not  yet  found  Pan  in  these  sweet  solitudes 
which  we  love  to  haunt  ;  but,  since  men 
usually  do  find  what  with  all  their  hearts  they 
seek  for,  neither  I  nor  my  children  have  yet 
lost  hope  that  we  shall  one  day  surprise,  if 
not  the  god  of  nature  himself,  at  least  some 
Faun  training  the  wild  vines  ;  or  hear  the  clink 
of  the  tiny  pickaxes  of  the  elves  beneath  ob- 
structing boulders,  delving  tunnels  through 
which  frail  rootlets  may  run  ;  or  catch  a  glimpse 
of  fair  nymphs  hovering  above  a  lonely  pool  to 
coax  the  water-lilies  from  the  mire.  Did  I  not 
see  them  once  crowning  the  work  of  one  whose 
joy  it  was  to  make  beauty  blossom  from  dead 
stone  ? 

I  find  this  Christian  Platonism,  the  belief 
that  nature  is  instinct  with  deity,  helping  the 
world  to  strive  and  to  aspire, —  that  every- 
where throughout  the  universe,  wherever  a 
plant  or  a  human  being  lifts  white  hands  of 
yearning  from  the  clods  that  would  hold  it 
down,  there  is  the  spirit  of  God  prompting  and 
H  is  ministers  aiding, — I  find  this  old  faith,  I  say, 
less  at  variance  with  the  love  of  Cod  which 
Jesus  taught  than  belief  in  Dante's  devils. 


The  Heart  of  the  Volcano        371 

I  have  never  frighted  my  little  ones  with 
such  horrors,  nor  punished  them  except  for 
cruelty,  following  the  example  of  our  King 
Henri  IV.,  who  struck  the  Dauphin  but  once, 
and  that  because  he  had  tortured  a  sparrow. 
It  was  to  that  Dauphin,  the  little  son  of  "  mon 
roy,  mon  Henriot"  that  Marguerite  left  her 
estates  when  she  died  at  the  age  of  sixty-two, 
in  the  springtime  of  a  new  era. 

I  shall  not  live  to  see  its  full  fruition,  but  I 
have  seen  its  birth,  or  rather  the  rebirth  of 
the  old  Greek  love  of  beauty  and  freedom  of 
thought  ;  and  I  can  well  believe  that  when  this 
Renaissance  is  crowned  by  the  love  of  humanity 
as  Vincent  de  Paul  practised  it,  this  world  will 
be  very  like  to  Heaven. 


APPENDIX 

NOTE  i  (CHAPTER  I) 

Philippe  de  Comines  relates  in  his  contemporary 
chronicle: 

"  King  Charles  the  Eighth  was  in  his  chateau  of  Am- 
boise,  where  he  had  begun  the  greatest  edifice  that  any 
king  has  built  in  the  century,  as  may  be  seen  by  the 
towers,  which  one  may  mount  on  horseback.  And  he 
brought  from  Naples  many  excellent  workmen  in  differ- 
ent crafts  as  sculptors  and  painters;  and  it  seemed 
fitting  that  what  he  undertook  should  be  undertaken  by 
a  young  king  and  one  who  hoped  for  a  long  life  (in 
which  to  complete  what  he  planned),  for  he  united  the 
beautiful  things  which  he  had  seen,  whether  in  France, 
Italy,  or  Flanders." 

Muntz,  in  his  valuable  work,  La  Renaissance  en  France 
a  Vepoque  de  Charles  VIII.,  quotes  from  a  state  docu- 
ment of  1495  which  records  the  payment  of  "  1593  livres 
for  the  conveyance  from  Naples  to  Lyons  of  tapestries, 
books,  paintings,  stone  of  marble  and  porphyry  and 
other  furniture,  the  said  things  weighing  87,000  pounds. 
As  also  for  their  cartage  from  Lyons  to  the  chateau  of 
Amboise  for  the  decoration  and  furnishing  of  the  said 
chateau  and  for  the  nourishing  of  XXII  workmen  for 
XXXIV  days  at  XL  sols  per  day,  whom  the  said  king 
had  caused  to  come  from  Naples  to  work  at  the  chateau 
at  his  device  and  pleasure." 

373 


374  Renaissance  Chateaux 

Charles  wrote  from  Italy  to  his  brother-in-law,  the  Sire 
de  Beaujeu: 

"  You  cannot  imagine  what  beautiful  gardens  I  have 
seen  in  this  city.  For  on  my  faith  it  seems  as  if  only 
Adam  and  Eve  were  wanting  to  make  of  them  a  terres- 
trial paradise.  And  besides  I  have  found  in  this  country 
the  best  painters,  and  will  send  some  of  them  to  you  to 
make  as  beautiful  panels  as  is  possible  such  as  none  of 
the  paintings  in  France  can  approach;  and  this  is  why  I 
shall  bring  them  with  me,  to  make  them  at  Amboise. " 

Philippe  de  Comines  etches  the  portrait  of  the 
gentle  king  in  a  few  suggestive  words:  "  The  said  king 
was  only  a  little  man  in  body,  but  so  good  that  it  is  not 
possible  to  see  a  better  creature,  and  the  most  humane 
and  sweetly  spoken  man  that  ever  lived." 

NOTE  2  (CHAPTER  VII) 

Henri  II.  took  especial  interest  in  Marie  Stuart's  pro- 
ficiency in  dancing,  and  himself  selected  a  master  to  give 
lessons  to  the  Dauphin  and  his  little  fiancee,  as  is  proved 
by  the  following  letter  to  the  master  of  the  palace  (Mon- 
sieur de  Humieres)  preserved  in  the  state  papers: 

"  MY  COUSIN: 

"  Forasmuch  as  Paul  de  Rege,  the  present  bearer,  is  a 
very  good  balladin  (ballet-dancer)  and  is  moreover  of 
very  worthy  and  estimable  condition,  I  have  been  ad- 
vised to  appoint  him  to  teach  my  son  the  Dauphin  how 
to  dance;  and  also  at  the  same  time  my  daughter  the 
Queen  of  Scotland,  and  the  young  gentlemen  and  ladies 
at  present  in  their  service  and  my  other  children.  For 
this  purpose  do  you  present  him  to  my  son  and  make 
him  to  lodge  and  eat  with  the  other  officers. 

"  HENRI  R. 

"January  roth,  1549." 


Appendix  375 

NOTE  3  (CHAPTER  IX) 

Brantome,  describing  Marguerite  at  this  period,  tells 
us  : 

"  On  the  day  of  Paques  fleuries  at  Blois,  when  her 
marriage  was  under  consideration,  I  saw  her  in  the  pro- 
cession superbly  dressed,  her  head  ornamented  with  a 
great  quantity  of  great  pearls  and  rich  stones  and  above 
all  of  diamonds  set  in  the  form  of  stars.  Her  stately 
form  was  clothed  in  cloth  of  gold  (frise)  the  richest 
ever  seen  in  France,  a  present  of  the  Grand  Seigneur  to 
Monsieur  de  Grand  Champ  on  his  departure  from  Con- 
stantinople where  he  was  Ambassador.  It  was  a  piece 
of  15  ells  which  Grand  Champ  told  me  cost  100  crowns 
the  ell,  for  it  was  a  chef-d'oeuvre.  Returned,  he  could 
think  of  no  worthier  way  to  employ  it  than  to  give  it  to 
the  sister  of  the  king,  who  made  a  robe  of  it  which  she 
wore  for  the  first  time  that  day,  and  though  it  was  ex- 
tremely heavy  her  magnificent  and  strong  form  carried  it 
easily,  whereas  had  she  been  of  ordinary  stature  she 
would  have  sunk  under  its  weight.  So  she  marched  in 
the  procession,  her  face  uncovered  not  to  deprive  the 
spectators  of  so  beautiful  a  vision,  carrying  in  her  hand 
a  palm  branch  with  regal  majesty  half  haughty  and  half 
gracious." 

Jeanne  d'Albret  wrote  at  the  same  time  to  her  son  : 

"  Madame  [Marguerite]  is  beautiful  and  circumspect 
and  amiable,  but  brought  up  in  the  most  corrupt  sur- 
roundings. ...  I  would  not  have  you  dwell  here  for 
anything  in  this  world.  I  desire  that  you  should  marry 
and  that  you  and  your  wife  should  retire  from  this  corrup- 
tion, for  though  I  imagined  it  great  I  find  it  still  greater. 
If  you  were  here  you  would  never  escape  without  the 
special  grace  of  God.  My  son,  you  can  well  understand 


376  Renaissance  Chateaux 

that  they  are  striving  to  separate  you  from  God  and 
from  me.  I  pray  God  to  aid  you  and  to  give  you,  my 
son,  the  desires  of  your  heart." 

Little  Catherine,  the  sister  of  Henri  de  Navarre,  was 
completely  won  by  Marguerite,  and  wrote  her  brother: 

"  Monsieur,  I  have  seen  Madame  Marguerite,  whom 
I  think  very  beautiful;  I  have  asked  her  to  keep  you  in 
her  good  graces,  which  she  promised  me;  she  was  pleas- 
ant to  me  and  gave  me  a  pretty  little  dog,  which  I  love." 

NOTE  4  (CHAPTER  X) 

Monsieur  Eugene  Muntz,  in  his  Notice  historique  sur 
les  bailments  qui  composent  r  Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts,  quotes 
from  Tallemant  des  Reaux:  "  Le  vingt  et  un  mars  mil 
six  cent  huit,  la  Reine  Marguerite,  duchesse  de  Valois, 
petite  fille  du  grand  Roi  Francois,  soeur  de  trois  Rois 
et  seule  restee  de  la  race  des  Valois,  ayant  etc  visitee  et 
secouree  de  Dieu  comme  Jacob  et  Ayant  voue  le  voeu 
de  Jacob,  elle  a  bati  et  fonde  ce  Monastere,  ou  elle  veut 
que  perpetuellement  soient  rendues  actions  de  graces  en 
reconnaissance  de  celles  qu'elles  a  recues  de  sa  divin 
bonte." 

The  pretty  hexagonal  chapel  which  she  christened  the 
Chapelle  des  Louanges  (praises)  still  exists  in  the  heart  of 
the  Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts,  in  whose  court  the  student 
will  recognise  beautiful  examples  of  the  architecture  of 
a  number  of  the  chateaux  described  in  this  volume. 
One  entire  facade  of  the  chateau  of  Gaillon,  built  by  Car- 
dinal George  Amboise,  confronts  us  as  we  enter.  The 
central  portion  of  the  vanished  wing  of  the  chateau  of 
Anet  displays  the  linked  crescents  of  Diane  de  Poitiers, 
and  the  museum  of  sculpture  abounds  in  other  relics 
of  the  enchanting  French  Renaissance. 


Jl  Selection  from  the 
Catalogue  of 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


Complete  Catalogues  sent 
on  application 


By  ELIZABETH  W.  CHAMPNEY 
Romance  of  the  French  Abbeys 

Octavo.     With  2  Colored,  9  Photogravure,  50  other 
Illustrations,  and  Ornamental  Headpieces 

"A  delightful  blending  of  history,  art,  and  romance.  .  .  .  Many  of 
the  stories  related  are  thrilling,  and  none  the  less  exciting  because  they 
belong  to  history." — Chicago  Dial. 

Romance  of  the  Feudal  Chateaux 

Octavo.    With  40  Photogravure  and  other  Illustrations 

"The  author  has  retold  the  legends  and  traditions  which  cluster  about 
the  chateaux  and  castles  which  have  come  down  from  the  Middle  Ages,  with 
the  skilful  touch  of  the  artist  and  the  grace  of  the  practised  writer.  .  .  ." 

Christian  Intelligencer. 

Romance  of 
the  Renaissance  Chateaux 

Octavo.    With  40  Photogravure  and  other  Illustrations 

"  The  romances  of  those  beautiful  chateaux  are  placed  by  the  author  on 
the  lips  of  the  people  who  lived  in  them^  She  gives  us  a  feeling  of  intimacy 
with  characters  whose  names  belong  to  history." — N.  Y.  Mail  and  Express. 

Romance  of  the  Bourbon  Chateaux 

Octavo.     With  Colored   Frontispiece  and  47  Photo- 
gravure and  other  Illustrations 

"  Told  with  a  keen  eye  to  the  romantic  elements  and  a  clear  understand- 
ing of  historical  significance." — Boston  Transcript. 

Romance  of  the  Italian  Villas 

Octavo.      With   9  Photogravure,  i    Colored,  and   44 
other  Illustrations 

'*  It  is  a  book  that  will  be  read  with  interest  this  year  or  ten  or  twenty 
years  hence." — Hartford  Courant. 

Romance  of  Roman  Villas 

Octavo.     With  9  Photogravure,   i   Colored,   and   44 
other  Illustrations 

Six  volumes.     Illustrated.     Each,  in  a  box,  net,  $3.50 
(By  mail,  $3.75.)    The  set,  6  volumes  in  a  box,  net,  $21.00 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 


By  ARVEDE  BARINE 


Three  Volumes.     Authorized  English  Versions. 
Octavo.     Fully  Illustrated.    Sold  Separately. 

Each  $3.OO  net.  By  Mail,  $3.25 

The  Youth  of  La  Grande 
fiademoiselle 

1627*1652 

"  This  brilliant  biography  sparkles  and  intoxicates  with  literary  vivacity. 
In  connection  with  the  career  of  the  astonishing  heroine,  the  author  presents 
a  picture  that  has  hardly  been  surpassed  of  Court  life  and  politics  in 
France  in  the  seventeenth  century.  The  illustrations  from  contemporary 
prints  add  greatly  to  the  attractiveness  of  this  fascinating  volume." — Chicago 
Evening  Post, 

Louis  XIV  and  La  Grande 
Mademoiselle 

1652-1693 

"  A  new  work  on  La  Grande  Mademoiselle  by  Arvede  Barine  is  a  prom- 
ise of  delight  to  all  who  love  wit  and  wisdom.  .  .  .  It  is  bewildering 
to  think  of  the  many  crowns  and  coronets  that  might  have  rested  on  the 
brow  of  the  dramatic  heroine,  a  heroine  who  appears  and  disappears  in 
clouds  of  dust,  with  regiments  of  cavalry  wheeling  and  whirling  around 
he_r  to  the  sound  of  the  trumpets — the  stern  devotee  of  reason  who  dis- 
missed one  of  her  maids  because  she  married  for  love — the  philosopher 
who  debated  in  her  mimic  court  whether  an  accepted  lover  is  more  un- 
happy than  a  rejected  lover  in  the  absence  of  the  beloved.  .  .  .  The 
story  of  this  heroine  is  told  by  Barine  with  that  art  which  conceals  art. 
It  forms  a  fitting  supplement  to  the  equally  delightful  volume 
which  preceded  it  describing  'The  Youth  of  La  Grande  Mademoiselle.'" 
— London  Times, 

Princesses  and  Court 
Ladies 


Q.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
NEW  YORK  LONDON 


Cathedrals  and  Cloisters  of  the 
5outh  of  France 

By  ELISE  WHITLOCK  ROSE 

With  4.  Photogravure  and  200  other  illustrations  from 

Original  Photographs 
By  VIDA  HUNT  FRANCIS 

and  a  Map.     2  vols.     8vo.     Net,  $5.00 

These  two  handsomely  printed  volumes,  dealing  with  the 
Cathedrals  of  the  Provinces  of  Provence,  Languedoc,  and  Gas- 
cony,  are  the  result  of  an  extended  sojourn  in  the  South  of 
France,  during  which  every  cathedral  in  the  three  provinces  was 
visited,  both  those  accessible  by  railroad  and  also  those  on  the 
byways. 

The  authors  were  singularly  fortunate  in  securing  permission 
(not  heretofore  granted  to  any  one)  to  examine  the  ecclesiastical 
archives,  and  are  thus  enabled  to  present  many  fresh  and 
interesting  side-lights  on  the  history  of  these  most  fascinating 
structures — fascinating  not  only  for  their  material  beauty,  but 
also  for  the  important  part  they  played  in  the  development  of 
civilization.  The  illustrations  are  from  photographs  taken  by 
Miss  Francis  under  the  most  favorable  conditions,  and  present  a 
series  that  is  not  attainable  elsewhere. 


Winged  Wheels  in  France 

By  MICHAEL  MYERS  SHOEMAKER 

Author  of  "  Islands  of  the  Southern  Seas,"  ••  The  Great 
Siberian   Railway,  etc. 

8vo.  with  60  Illustrations.   Net,  •$  2.50 

The  record  of  a  motor-car  trip  of  nearly  5000  miles  over 
superb  highways  and  enchanting  byways  through  the  Rhine 
Valley  and  thence  to  Switzerland.  Mr.  Shoemaker  in  not  only 
an  experienced  traveller,  but  he  sees  things  and  has  the  faculty 
of  being  able  to  tell  what  he  saw  in  a  most  interesting  manner. 
And  what  is  really  better  worth  seeing  and  telling  about  than 
these  historic  shrines  so  rich  in  story  and  romance  ?  The  volume 
is  in  no  sense  of  the  word  a  guidebook  ;  no  set  itinerary  was 
followed  with  feverish  haste,  but,  as  fancy  might  direct,  pausing 
in  some  ancient  city  or  quaint  village,  climbing  mountains  to 
visit  long-forgotten  castles,  or  rolling  into  valleys  in  search  of 
deserted  abbeys.  It  was  an  ideal  journey  and  its  charms  are 
well  pictured  by  pen  and  camera. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 


"  Written    with     exceptional   sympathy,    ability,    and 
knowledge." — The  Churchman. 

By 

ELSIE  WHITLOCK  ROSE 

and 

VIDA    HUNT    FRANCIS 

CATHEDRALS   AND  CLOISTERS  OF 

THE   SOUTH    OF   FRANCE 

Provence-Languedoc-Gascony 

With  4.  Photogravure  and  200  other  Illustrations  from.  Origi- 
nal Photographs  and  a  Map.  2  Volumes,  cloth  extra, 
gilt  tops,  stamped  on  side  with  full  gilt  and  color,  boxed, 
net,  $5.00. 

"One  of  the  best  books  we  have  read  for  many  a  day.  .  .  . 
Interesting  in  its  material  and  information  and  charming  in 
its  method  of  presentation  ....  To  lovers  and  students  of 
architecture,  the  illustrations  in  these  beautiful  volumes  will 
be  found  more  attractive  than  the  letterpress,  and  this  is  itself 
of  charming  quality." — London  Spectator, 

CATHEDRALS  AND  CLOISTERS  OF 

MID-LAND   FRANCE 
Burgundy-Savoy-Dauphin6-Auvergne-Acquitaine 

With  4  Photogravure  and  200  other  Illustrations  from  Origi- 
nal Photographs  and  a  Map,  2  Volumes,  cloth  extra, 
gilt  tops,  stamped  on  side  with  full  gilt  and  color,  boxed, 
net,  $3.00. 

These  two  volumes,  uniform  with  "  Cathedrals  of  the 
South  of  France  "  are  the  fruit  of  many  successive  summers 
spent  in  wanderings  in  "rare  unspoiled  France"  where  the 
tourist  and  his  suit-case  are  practically  unknown. 

The  authors  introduce,  in  photograph  and  story,  the 
cathedrals  of  the  Mid-land  provinces,  as  they  exist  to-day, 
with  their  architectural  and  historical  peculiarities  j  and  they 
add  incidentally  certain  illuminating  bits  of  church  politics 
and  psychology,  for  the  ecclesiastical  traditions  of  France  go 
back  to  the  very  first  years  of  the  Christian  era. 
Send  for  descriptive  circular 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 


UNIVERSIT1  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


NO  PHONE 


£  AU8L, 


~^ 


- 


RENEWALS 


%ojnv3jo> 

<OFCALIF(% 


<$; 


:-UMVER%. 


.. 


£$ 


^UIBRARYOc. 


L±s;; 

no  IE 


